Mock My Innocence
by The House by the Cemetery
Summary: An Elf with a thing for Orcs finds an Orc with a thing for Elves. Just enjoying their good luck would be too easy, so they begin a snail's pace trek across Middle-earth with a group of Orcs as strange as they are annoying.
1. Elf Meets Orc

This is something I first started to write eleven years ago as a sort of parody of the types of fics I kept seeing back then (TV Tropes would've been super useful for reference). It very quickly deteriorated into shameless Orc/Elf silliness, but at least it kept having fun with cliches! I wrote 37 chapters of this before taking everything offline for various reasons (all of them ridiculous), and I'll keep posting them as I edit some of the worst clumsy phrasing and such.

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They moved swiftly in the darkness of the forest, glad for the absence of the sunlight. Even if it did not turn them into stone like the Trolls that lived in the mountain-caves, it made their hunger-weakened bodies practically useless for pretty much anything but for panting and moaning in pain. And as much as the Uruk-hai mocked them for this weakness, they knew better than to send the smaller, weaker Orcs on their missions into the crippling light of sun. They were certainly sadistic enough to do that, but they were also smart enough to not send their grunts to an almost certain death. After all, who would then do all the boring practical work for the fighting Uruk-hai?

That was another hunting and gathering night for the Orcs. Nearly mad with starvation, they had sneaked into the forest that was rumoured to be inhabited by Elves; a foolish thing to do under any circumstances, but hunger forced their hands, and hunger dulled their senses.

It didn't come as a surprise, then, that at one point an Orc chasing something that resembled a rabbit eventually bumped into a tall figure in a display of stunning carelessness. The tall one was caught by surprise and fell with a thud, as did the Orc. For a while the poor creature could not even breathe; he was sure that any moment now there would come an army of Elves with their bows and swords held high, ready to slaughter him. It was just the kind of luck an Orc might expect. To think that he had managed to survive the War of the Ring, but was going to die during peace in an attempt to find food!

However, when all he could hear was the voice of the Elf cursing silently and the noise of his fellow hunters approaching, the Orc found the courage to stand up, seize his 'prey' and call out to his companions.

"Gruzlak caught an Elf!" they whispered, surrounded him and had the Elf tied and silent in no time. With great caution, they gathered what little they had been able to catch and managed to leave the forest for their home in the nearby mountains uninterrupted. Their homeward journey was a lot merrier than it had been in ages. Now the Orcs had food and an Elf, to boot.

"I wonder what they're gonna do to him, Krazum," said Gruzlak, glancing at the couple of low-ranking Uruks that had deigned to chaperone the lesser Orcs on their mission. "Will they make breakfast of him or turn him into one of us?"

"I've told you only Sauron and Saruman have made Orcs. Those slavering fools wouldn't know how to turn an Elf into a pile of dung," replied Krazum. Someone nearby opened his mouth to say something about a certain someone called Morgoth but knowing Krazum, thought better of it, shook his head and shut his mouth.

"By eating him?" guessed Gruzlak, who was eager to be on good terms with Krazum and thus spent a lot of his time trying to impress the Mordor-Orc. Against all Orc-logic, it worked; instead of mocking him cruelly for stating the obvious, Krazum laughed a terrible laugh in response and patted his little shoulder.

Somewhere behind them, the unfortunately nocturnal Elf was doing his best to not fall off the shoulder of the Orc who was carrying him. He seemed to have a special talent for getting in trouble with unfriendly creatures, often captured by mountain-trolls or Orcs. Especially Orcs. He had a knack for being there whenever a band of them went by with the full intention of raiding any village in their way, destroying property and capturing people to be their slaves. What had made it worth his while when he was younger was the fact that usually there was always at least one ruggedly handsome Man or a less ruggedly handsome Elf to rescue him – and later on, as his tastes became more refined, he had learned to appreciate the prolonged company of the Orcs. In fact, for a long time now he had been quite looking forward to it.

Suddenly the Orc carrying him dropped him to the ground, making him wheeze out a very unelvish curse once more. Of course the Elven youth knew what to expect from Orcs. They were rough and cared not if their prisoners felt a tad uncomfortable in their hands, and while getting thrown around like a sack of potatoes wasn't quite his thing, the youth had to wonder if there were any other things Orcs might like rough.

Trying very hard not to grin at _that_ thought, he had some difficulty getting into a sitting position with his hands tied behind his back.

"'ere, what're you smirkin' at?" grumbled the Orc in an unsurprising accent, rubbing his shoulder. "I thought you damned Elves were s'pposed to be light. We're takin' a break, so stop making faces before you ruin it fer me."

"As you wish," the youth said in a light tone, taking full advantage of the opportunity to admire the Orc's muscular physique. Perhaps it was wrong of him to find such a hideous creature attractive, but his loose set of morals made sure he didn't dwell on such trivial matters for long.

"You tryin' to disrespect me?" growled the Orc, apparently failing to notice the way he was being stared at and mistaking the Elf's tone of voice for an attempt to be flippant. Bringing his face very close to that of the youth, he lowered his own voice to sound more dangerous. "You'd do well to remember that I could tear your pretty face off without even usin' my hands. These teeth aren't sharp just to look nice, so don't get cute with me! Understood?"

The Elf shivered with lust as the hot breath of the angry Orc swept his face in the cold night. His head light and the red of his cheeks deepening, he forced himself to look into those glowing orange eyes.

"Yesss," he breathed, voice trembling. The Orc nodded in satisfaction, but frowned a little. Bad as he seemed to be at reading body language, the boy had made him just a little bit suspicious.

"I hope you've taken good care of the brat, Gorakh. Chief Gorluk won't be pleased if you spoil him before he gets to do anything, y'know," said one of the other Orcs, who were now approaching their captive. Clearly fond of syllable-free growls, Gorakh made another one in response and sat down to chew on a miserably small piece of meat. The other Orc nodded at the Elf. "Got a name, then? Chief doesn't like to share and we gotta have _something_ to laugh at."

"Anguelen," said the Elf, "and I'm not a brat. I'm already three hundred..."

"Shut up! We didn't ask you for your life story. We came to tell you wormbrains that we're moving on, so don't bother to get too comfortable! And you, 'Anguelen'... hope you don't mind a bit o'running, because that's what you'll be doing for the rest of the way back to our home." With that, the Orcs left Gorakh, Anguelen and the smaller Orcs who always tended to get left behind.

"Vile bastards," Gorakh muttered. "'ardly 'ad any time to sit down and eat... At least I won't 'ave to carry you 'round anymore, Elf-boy. Get on your feet!"

The rest of the journey was full of the merry cursing of the Orcs and an occasional whiplash. Anguelen rather enjoyed it.

As the brave raiders returned to their home at the mountains, the cover of night was already slipping away to let dawn tickle the face of the earth with her rosy fingers. Had said raiders themselves been poetic enough to see the sunrise that way, they would surely have threatened to bite the fingers off the tramp if she couldn't learn to keep them to herself. But being coarse and uncivilised creatures, they merely resorted to more swearing. Anguelen had started to pick up most interesting words of Black Speech and different dialects of Orkish.

They halted before a miserable-looking cave that was partially hidden by stunted pines. Krazum cleared his throat and bellowed in a voice that didn't sound any clearer than it had before:

"Oi! Moglurz and Thraknash, get the Chief! We've got food!"

Seconds later, a huge Uruk emerged from the cave, flanked by a particularly nasty-looking regular Orc and another Uruk. Chief Gorluk bared his teeth in what was the most terrible expression Anguelen had ever seen on the face of one of his kind. He also noted that the leader of the Orcs was unbearably, incredibly hot.

"By the darkness of Utumno. If it isn't my band of stalwart warriors." Stepping closer to Krazum, he showed off his set of magnificently pointed teeth a bit more. "And here I thought we'd have to start eating each other again. Next time you go hunting during a famine, don't take all night! What've you brought, then?"

Without a word, or any semblance of grace for that matter, Krazum flung the dead animals to the ground. Then he motioned for Gorakh to bring Anguelen before Chief Gorluk. The great Uruk's eyes flashed in the lingering morning twilight, and he looked at Anguelen with the kind of dark intensity that never failed to make the boy swoon.

"Elf," he stated the obvious. There was unholy joy in that single syllable uttered, and his expression was downright demonic. "Oh, how I have _longed_ to get my hands on an Elf..." Breathing deeply, as well as making Anguelen shiver at the sight of his heaving chest, Gorluk bared his teeth once more in a twisted smile. "Free him."

Gruzlak untied the rope that bound Anguelen's hands together and didn't really have any chance to stop him after that. The Elf had spent a good portion of the night being pawed by foul beasts that he, for his own twisted reasons, found unbelievably attractive.

So when Anguelen dashed at him at incredible speed and tackled him to the ground, Gorluk was too stunned to do anything to defend himself. Looking up, he saw the Elf gazing down at him in a _passionate_ way. Gorluk gulped. He tried to squirm away from Anguelen, but the Elf was surprisingly strong. Giving him a disturbing grin, Anguelen spoke to him in a voice so husky that if Gorluk hadn't been frightened before, he was now utterly petrified.

"So now that you have your hands on me," Anguelen breathed (although it was quite obvious that it was _he_ who had his hands on Gorluk and not the other way around), "may I have a guess at what you intend to do to me?"

Gorluk made an attempt at speech. When it became obvious that his vocal cords had gone on strike for the time being, the Elf went on without waiting for his input.

"From what I know about Uruk-hai, I'd say you are not going to go easy on me... You Orcs seem to like tying people up, so you'll probably want to do some of that... use that big whip..." at this point, Anguelen's voice dropped down and the look in his eyes turned so hot that Gorluk thought his pupils were going to start smouldering, "...and ride me like a stallion of Rohan."

Somehow the shock allowed Gorluk to regain control of his gift of speech. Even if his voice kept raising ridiculously high with fear, he was certainly going to use it.

"I – I – I am not interested in Elves that way!"

"That's what they always say..."

"For Saruman's sake! _Help me_!" The few Orcs whom the shock had not rendered completely incapable of moving rushed forward and lifted Anguelen off Gorluk. They were, however, forced to release him when he decided to turn his attention to them instead. "Moglurz! Thraknash! Get that Elf and carry him away from here! Far, far away!"

The two quickly did as they were told. As soon as they left the part of the mountain that was still shadowed, Moglurz started feeling rather ill in the light of the sun and could barely help Thraknash carry Anguelen. Finally, the Uruk decided to free him from his task.

"Why don't you go back to the cave, and I'll take the Elf away from the mountains?"

"Why would you do that, brat? You trying to one-up me again or something?" panted Moglurz, ready to keel over.

"Nothing like that, you old coot. Just go back to your cave and tell Chief Gorluk that I promised to get rid of the Elf." Moglurz looked at Thraknash with something resembling reluctant gratitude and turned back to the shadows. The Uruk put Anguelen down to let him walk on his own.

After a couple of minutes of walking, Thraknash tentatively broke the silence.

"So... you're called Anguelen, then?"

"Yes!" exclaimed the Elf, immediately perking up. "And your name is Thraknash, right?"

"So it is," said the Uruk in return. For a while the two continued in silence.

"Will you walk with me to the end of the mountain-path?" asked Anguelen eagerly.

"Those are the orders," replied Thraknash. He was feeling far more nervous than he let on, and suddenly it became difficult for him to speak. The end of the mountain-path was near, and the Elf was to continue alone from there. There was an opportunity to take there... perhaps an opportunity to be taken. "I... suppose I could walk with you across that field. I mean, there's no urgent business in the mountains and I don't mind the sun."

Anguelen smiled mischievously. Perhaps his latest spot of trouble would indeed be worth his while. "But what about the river that marks the end of the field? Will you cross it with me?"

Thraknash glanced at him. "If you so wish," he said.

"And the forest that lies beyond the river? Will you walk with me there also?" asked the Elf, already sure of his victory. Thraknash looked at him again, curiously, and smiled a smile that to any other Elf would have seemed horrible.

"Well if I'm already this far, there's really no reason not to, is there?" As if having got his consent, Anguelen draped his arm over Thraknash's shoulders, grinning maniacally from ear to ear. To any other Orc it would have seemed horrible, but Thraknash grinned back. Yes, this definitely looked like something that was going to be worth their while.


	2. Sever Those Pesky Family Ties

Thraknash opened his bleary eyes, blinking in confusion. His first thought was that he had been attacked; there seemed to be no muscle in his body that did not ache with exertion, and he felt utterly exhausted. Remembering that the Uruk-hai were supposed to be the stronger, more resilient and more _durable_ breed of Orc, he wondered what could have happened that had robbed him of all his energy.

In his general discomfort, Thraknash had pretty much ignored the weight on his left arm and now he felt it shift slightly, drawing his attention to it. The Uruk turned his head to the left and was greeted by the sight of a sleeping Elf. His sickly green eyes were still closed - something about the fact felt off, but Thraknash couldn't quite put his finger on it - with strands of auburn hair falling over them. Thraknash wondered if he ever looked that normal awake.

The great Orc shifted his head back to its original position and gazed tiredly at the trees towering over them. A stray beam of light stole its way through the dense veil of leaves, penetrating the shadows.

And speaking of penetrating...

Thraknash opened his eyes wide, no longer sleepy. _"...ah." _As the events of the night came back to him in a flash of realisation, he had absolutely no doubt as to why his entire body was aching and protesting every movement he made. A smug grin found its way onto Thraknash's face as he became aware of the stinging scratches Anguelen had made with his nails while digging his fingers into the Orc's back.

"Awake already, I see." Anguelen sounded sly and impossibly chipper. The Elf sat up, releasing Thraknash's arm, and lowered his body again, this time on the Uruk's chest. He lay there wordlessly for a while, stroking his new catch's coarse, black hair and smiling devilishly. "Well, now I'm certainly glad I got captured by another Orc tribe. Usually they just send me away before I get a chance to properly attempt seduction."

"You do this often, then?" Thraknash asked. He managed to keep his voice calm, but already he was beginning to get the sinking feeling that he owed his success to the Elf's gratitude after a long dry spell and perhaps wasn't quite the stud he thought after all. That would sting a bit more than scratches.

"Oh, I've been caught by dozens of Orc tribes. It always looks like I'm going to succeed when they start dragging me to their lair, you know, the way they always leer at their captives, make suggestive remarks, lick their knives, keep pawing me... and then, when I think it's time to put an end to the foreplay and really get down to it, they get all demure and panicky and let me go! It's really frustrating, it is! They tease and tease and tease but fail to live up to the expectations..."

Anguelen looked as though he wasn't done ranting, but instead of going on, he just smiled.

"...which is why I'm so glad to have met you," he said. "Do you have any idea what it's like to be but three hundred and fifteen years old, full of life and... certain needs, and completely unable to find anyone who shares those needs? Who knows, perhaps I wouldn't get on my family's nerves so much if there was someone to tame me..." he concluded, lowering his voice suggestively.

"I can't say I've had a lot of time to think of my own needs of that sort, what with trying to keep my lifespan a bit longer than what Orcs are used to and all. But now that there is no war to worry about and I'm probably not returning to my tribe..." Thraknash said, trailing off and letting Anguelen come to his own conclusions. The Elf took the hint and craned his neck slightly to lick Thraknash's lips, which was quite a thoughtful gesture considering that an actual kiss would have been a little too strange to pull on an Orc so soon. Then he sat up again and started to gather his clothes.

"What I'm really glad for is that this summer has been quite warm," Anguelen said, pulling on his trousers. He handed Thraknash some pieces of his armour that had been left somewhere nearby and smirked. "Not that we were cold last night or anything, but I can still imagine what my father would say if he found out that I've been sleeping naked in the woods..."

Neither of them said much else while getting dressed. Thraknash had some trouble finding the leather straps he used to tie his short daggers to his belt, and examining the state of his dark-bladed sword, he decided he would have to find the time to sharpen it. Anguelen wiped at his leather tunic a couple of times to clean it of moss and leaves and helped him, perhaps a bit reluctantly, put it on.

"Shall we go, then?" asked the Elf. "If we walk to the north for about half an hour, we'll come across a river where we can wash up a bit. I know I need a bath right now!"

And so the unlikely lovers set off to find the river. The sun was creeping higher up in the sky, and though Thraknash was of the Uruk-hai who feared not its light, he was by no means feeling comfortable under the assault of its relentless heat. Yet he did not complain, for the Elf who had been kind enough to show him a bit of a good time seemed to be enraptured by the way the nature awoke in the daylight.

"What a marvellous day!" Anguelen half-whispered. And the trees seemed to agree with him; the wind hummed softly amongst their leaves, making music purer than anything Thraknash had ever heard, an easy feat considering how few chances he had had to hear pure music in his life. And at that moment, no matter how much he enjoyed looking at the Elf who was now more fetching than ever, an unpleasant thought struck the Uruk.

"I know you Elves like doing it, but... you're not going to sing, are you?"

"Hmm..? Oh, of course not! I've a terrible voice." Anguelen adjusted his belt and turned his head a little to the left. Thraknash could see he was smiling again, but this time the expression lacked the innocence that had been there but moments ago. "Say, I've been thinking... if you have hardly had time to think about the carnal needs that are so natural to most races under and hiding from the sun, I don't suppose you've spent much time acting on them?"

"Well... no. We warriors have to conserve our energy." Thraknash had a vaguely ominous feeling about this, but that was another thing he couldn't quite put his finger on. Anguelen slowed down a little and his smile turned quite lascivious. The Uruk had never before thought much about fact that the Elven youth was taller than he was (such things were insignificant when lying down), but when the plague green eyes met his pus yellow ones, Anguelen seemed to grow taller than the trees and overshadow him; he was both making Thraknash nervous and exciting him in a way that was new to him even after the night they had spent doing obscene things to each other.

"Interesting," the Elf began in a tone of voice that would have reminded Thraknash of a mischievous child, had he ever seen one of the hideous creatures. "Don't think I've ever had the chance to defile an innocent before."

"An inno... do you_ mind_?" Well, _that_ threw him off his guard. In fact, Thraknash was so upset that he almost forgot how to walk for a second. When he regained his footing and looked at Anguelen, the Elf was still grinning at him like a fiend of some sort.

"But an innocent you are," he repeated, enjoying himself immensely, "at least in that one way..."

"But I'm an Orc! Why would you insult me like that?" The strong, fierce Uruk-hai warrior was now squirming, and had his skin not been so dark, his face would have been very, very red indeed.

"You're a virgin, aren't you?" What was _wrong_ with the Elf? Didn't he know that Elves were supposed to be kind, gracious and disgustingly good, instead of tormenting their enemies-turned-lovers and enjoying it? "Or rather, _were_ a virgin..."

"So what if I was a little... inexperienced?" Thraknash looked away. The way his face felt as if it were on fire made him angry; never mind the Elf, what was wrong with _him_? Sure it was a little embarrassing that he apparently hadn't been as obscene as he thought, but he still figured he had done a decent job.

"Nothing... except that I had never done it with a _virgin_ before..."

"Yeah, well I bet you've done it at least a thousand times before, haven't you," grumbled the Uruk before he could stop himself, not really caring that Anguelen could probably hear the insecurity in his voice.

"Well, let me see. There was that Dwarf about a hundred years ago... a nobleman not long after that – had a thing for young Elves, he did... and quite a few other Men. In my experience, Men are the easiest of all by far. Must be because they live such short lives..." Anguelen nudged Thraknash's arm and chukled. "But I have to say you were really good for a beginner. Anything else you'd like to ask?"

"...are you always so... enthusiastic?"

"When I haven't been getting any for the last fifty years, yes." Thraknash nodded, grateful that it hadn't been longer than that. Otherwise he would probably have woken up half-dead instead of just exhausted. But at least he had been complimented, and his Uruk-hai sense of superiority was slowly recovering from the blow it had taken.

Those thoughts were quickly forgotten as Anguelen suddenly slammed himself against Thraknash's heavier body, taking the Uruk down with him. Before Thraknash could ask if he really was that insatiable he heard a soft _thunk_, followed by three others, as the Elven arrows hit a tree he had but a second ago been standing right in front of.

"Stop, you fools! You could hit my son!" cried a voice in an old elven-tongue, much older than any Thraknash had ever briefly heard before slaying its speaker; it pierced his mind with the anger of its wielder, meanings rising from the words he could not understand. Anguelen looked up to see his father standing several paces away from them. He was flanked by a guard of four Elves, peering at Thraknash cautiously and looking as though he would have liked to cut him to ribbons with the ridiculously large sword he was holding.

"Father..! What in the holy name of Varda are you doing? Why are those nitwits shooting Thraknash?" Said nitwits stared at the Uruk with their shining eyes, ready to fill him with arrow-steel if need be; the Elf, who apparently was their leader and quite obviously Anguelen's father, approached his wayward son with a look of noble indignation on his exalted countenance.

"Son, in what foolishness have you yet again engaged? Can you not see that this is an Orc, an enemy of all Elves?"

"I can bloody well see he's an Orc, Father. The question is, why are you and your idiots attacking him when the war has been over for two damned years?"

"For millennia has that vile race been at war with all Elves, peace or not. At all times they desire our doom and wish to destroy that which is beautiful and right; indeed, it would surely have slain me with the foul blade it is carrying, had my soldiers not been on their guard!" said Anguelen's father, and his voice was incandescent with the heat of his ire.

"That's utter bollocks, Father. Thraknash has no reason to skewer you with his sword," retorted the son, and muttered: "As he's been doing some skewering with his 'sword' quite enough earlier..." His father could not hear the last bit, but Thraknash did, and grinned in a way that didn't quite make the older Elf see him in a more favourable light.

"Such language is unbecoming of one who is to be the leader of his people, Anguelen! Now stand aside, that my brave soldiers may put that beast out of its apparent misery."

"Go fuck yourself, you sad old git! And 'it' has a name, too, you know, so stop acting as if you're too noble to call him by it!"

"A name, on such a hideous animal? Surely you jest, stupid boy! Now just get off that dirty thing and my men will -"

"There you go again, acting like you're the bloody first Firstborn of Ilúvatar. When will you get it through your thick skull that -"

"Be silent, you insolent brat! I will not hear you speak to me in such manner..."

Apparently, they could have gone on in this manner for hours, aided by centuries of practice. At least Anguelen seemed quite ready to do just that, but the heated bickering was cut short by a female voice coming from the forest, followed by its owner; a tall, dark-haired woman came running to the scene, calling out to her son.

"O my child! How I worried for your sake, and feared that you would never again return to your mother... oh, what is that filthy thing upon which you lie?"

"That, my beloved wife, is an Orc; one of the Uruk-hai, I dare say! Our precious son has decided to take it upon himself to defy all warnings of his loving father and all others who have encountered these... _beings_, to acquaint himself with it. Is that not just lovely?"

"Woe is the day that I had to lay eyes upon it, for 'tis a creature unrivalled in ghastliness of demeanour. Would that my son had never heard of it, nor been defiled by the touch of its skin."

"Well, thank you ever so fucking much. That's going to keep me warm when all else is cold, I'm sure." In all his life, Thraknash had never heard such utter tripe before and wished he could have shut his mind from it.

"It _speaks_..." was all the Elven woman could say before her beauteous face contorted in disgust.

"Indeed he does, Mother. And he does other things as well; he is not an animal, nor is he ghastly, and with him have I tasted a world that is beyond the reach of any of those stupid, pompous Elves in our town." Anguelen clearly had trouble speaking in the formal manner of his parents and he slipped to his own style towards the end of the sentence, but the effort seemed to be enough for a look of realisation was on the faces of those wise Elves, and with it, contempt.

"Alas! for my child has gone beyond light. I had hoped for him to become my successor, but now I fear that his inclination towards darkness has swallowed him whole, and he is already following in the footsteps of his cousin; no hope do I see for him in the future. I must speak with my sister, so as to arrange for her eldest son to take Anguelen's place."

"You say that as if it were a bad thing," said Anguelen, but his father no longer listened to him. He was in a world of his own, and the magnanimous grace that lined his features was almost blinding in its brilliance. His soldiers looked on in amazement for their leader's ability to handle his grief with such strength of spirit.

"Would that I were long dead ere this tragedy came to be!" lamented the woman. "My only son is nigh taken by the Hand of the Enemy, and his own father would abandon him so lightly! Husband, with your words you mock the very innocence of the seed of your loins!"

"It's useless to talk to them when they are like this," Anguelen whispered. He helped Thraknash up and simply left with him; the Elves they left behind were too engrossed in their drama to notice. It did not take them long to reach the river they had originally set out to find, and soon they were swimming in the cool, refreshing water.

"Yes, let them mock me all they want. I find the world outside our puny little forest a lot more interesting, anyway." Anguelen ducked beneath the surface for a few seconds. When he re-emerged, his hair was dripping water and reflected the light of the sun with the innate beauty of an oil stain. Thraknash could do nothing but stare at him for a while, forgetting he had his own hair to tend to. When he found his words again, the Uruk's first thought was to satisfy his curiosity.

"What was that about your cousin back there?"

"Oh, her... the daughter of my uncle. Now that I think about it, Father was probably so bitter about me liking dark things because there's already someone like that in the family. Still, she was a dear friend of mine and I wasn't too pleased when they sent her away..." Anguelen swam closer to Thraknash and started to untangle the strands of black hair.

"What did she do to get thrown out like that?" Thraknash asked. In his society, everybody fought and bickered and sometimes brutally murdered each other, but so far no such atrocity had been committed that the other Orcs would have exiled one of their own for it.

"I think they lost their patience with her when she said how unfair it was that the Dark Lord had an army of Orcs all to himself... although she did specify that she would have preferred a harem of them." Thraknash nodded. That was all the information he needed at the moment, perhaps all the information he could bear. Anguelen was still working on his hair, and after a while he started to hum.


	3. Out of the frying pan

It was but one of the many mornings the now tribeless Uruk warrior had greeted with his baleful glare, and yet it was unique; for of all the mornings he had endured, it was his second one with the Elf sleeping next to him. Well, at least Anguelen was sleeping. Thraknash had tried, but his puny attempts had been thwarted by Anguelen's constant thrashing and moaning. When he had finally ended up with his legs over the Uruk's chest, giggling at some naughty dream, Thraknash seriously contemplated tying him up so he could get some rest. The thought passed, and all he did was throw his arm over the Elf and cover him with his heavy body. After that Anguelen still made the occasional incomprehensible sound, but at least he wasn't mauling his lover anymore.

It was then that the other noise started.

Thraknash somehow found the strength to open one bloodshot eye and look around his surroundings. Anguelen was quiet for a change. No other visible, sentient beings were in sight. The Uruk opened another eye and looked everywhere for someone to kill for intruding his rare moment of rest, but his enemy was well hidden. As a wave of steadily growing rage swelled within him, the remains of sleep still blurring his mind were torn apart, allowing him to finally recognise the torturous sound.

Birds.

Noisy, crap bomb dropping, cruel birds, bellowing and roaring high up in the trees. Thraknash let out a deep, murderous growl, wishing for a bow and an arrow to make the din of chirps and flutters stop.

"_Little bastards..." _The Elf moved beneath his arm and slurred some words of an Elvish language Thraknash couldn't understand. Peering over Anguelen's shoulder, he could see his eyes were still closed. Thraknash was suddenly reminded of the way that had confused him, and he remembered one of those days spent watching in the shadows with some of the lesser Orcs during the war. Their mission had been simple: guard the road near their camp and kill all intruders that strayed there. Of course, it was just the little snaga who needed things like camps. The Uruk-hai could have gone on forever without food, rest and shelter, from battle to battle, killing every foe in their way – or that's what they liked to think.

In the end, none of the most ferocious of them had survived.

Shaking off that particular memory, Thraknash concentrated on the little conversation he had overheard that day. As an Uruk, 'superior' to the smaller Orcs, he had not attempted to converse with them. Instead, he had listened to them talk amongst each other, and this time their discussion had been about Elves. Not much of it had stuck to his mind, but Thraknash could have sworn that at some point it had been said that Elves did not sleep.

He looked at Anguelen's face again. He had never really watched anyone sleep, so he couldn't be sure, but he had always imagined that most creatures did not wander in the realm of dreams with such inane grins on their faces. Thraknash poked Anguelen lightly. That only got a giggle out of the youth, so he bent down and sniffed him tentatively. When he looked up again, the green eyes were watching him.

"So you _are_ awake."

"I'm always awake." Anguelen stood up, as if to show that he was not in the least bit tired.

"So it's true what they say about Elves and their waking dreams?" Thraknash asked. He got up, stretching his legs a bit and stifling a maddening urge to yawn. "Though I have no idea what they are about, after last night I'm not sure if I _want_ to know..."

"Your loss. They give me... ideas." Anguelen nodded and, sure enough, _blushed_ like a maiden. That made Thraknash nervous; if there was something in this world that could make the Elf blush, he'd better not ask about it before getting his much needed rest and regaining some of his strength. Like all Uruk-hai, he still prided himself on his superb stamina and agility in battle, but Anguelen's... _attentions_… had the tendency to drain him of both. Pity that Sauron and Saruman, in trying to create a race of Orcs mightier and stronger than any that had ever existed, had failed to take into account the possibility of them getting in prolonged physical contact with deprived (and one might say depraved) Elves. Well, too late to register complaints now.

* * *

"Why not? I'm just saying that you shouldn't decline so quickly before you've at least tried it," said Anguelen.

"I haven't tried throwing myself before a bunch of randy Ents either, but I'm still pretty sure I wouldn't like what they would do to me," Thraknash reasoned in a futile attempt to introduce logic into their discussion. It had absolutely no effect on Anguelen.

"What is it about me being on top for a change that you object to? ...just don't tell me it's because you'll feel like less of a man."

"It's not like I'm not curious..."

"Oh? What's stopping you, then?"

"What do you think? You're not exactly an easy lay, you know... I mean, you _are_ kind of rough, and as an Uruk I can take it, but doing it the other way around..." Thraknash paused for a while, trying to put his thoughts into words. "Well, I certainly don't want to end up feeling as if I've been shagged by an Oliphaunt."

After a few seconds of stunned silence, Anguelen burst into laughter. "And here I thought Uruk-hai were very much into this whole let's-bugger-each-other-senseless thing," he chuckled. "You wouldn't have to worry about that. If I want, I can be a real gentleman... uh, gentle-elf... look, I'll be gentle, all right?"

"But Uruk-hai don't like it gentle," Thraknash reminded him. "Orcs don't _do_ gentle."

"Well, that makes things rather difficult for us, doesn't it..." Apparently, Anguelen had accepted his explanation and chose not to press him about it. As grateful as Thraknash was for that, he made a mental note to himself to think of a solution later. Funny how the silliest problems were the hardest to solve sometimes.

"That's strange... the forest doesn't get this misty very often, and the weather certainly isn't right for that," Anguelen muttered after a moment of walking. Silvery fog was rising from nowhere, creeping up the trunks of the trees like living dead vines. "Wastes of Valinórë... this isn't ordinary fog."

"What's this..? It's making me kind of... tired..." Thraknash now saw cold little tendrils everywhere, swaying willow-limber amidst the trees as though looking for someone. Crawling along the forest floor and floating through the air, they left trails of greyish, ethereal matter on every surface they touched. He shuddered as a bundle of them parted like spread fingers and curled round his legs, licking his bare skin. He looked around for Anguelen, but could barely see two paces ahead.

"_If his sentient arsehole of a father is back with some sort of fucking elf-trick, I'll rip the brain out of his head,"_ he thought, tearing at the mist. His own head felt incredibly light.

The Elf, for his part, stood still in a cloud of brilliant silver. He could see nothing else; not the trees, not even himself. Certainly not the Orc. The ground beneath his feet kind of budged, forcing him on his knees for fear of falling. Strange... he could not even feel the ground he was touching.

"Thraknash..?"

* * *

"Well done, Bolbur. You shall be richly rewarded for your services..."

Thraknash opened his eyes. They felt cool as the heavy lids swept over them and slid down again. He had no idea how long he had been unconscious, he had a pounding headache and somebody had propped him against something icily cold.

"Are you awake, my pretty?"

This time the gleaming yellow eyes flew open. Thraknash blinked furiously to clear his sight. There was someone standing in the middle of the room, facing him.

"_What_ did you call me..?" Thraknash growled, terrified to hear how weak he sounded. "_Bet that mist was enhanced by sorcery..."_

"My, how low your voice is. I'm afraid my servant is prone to unnecessary dawdling and did not bring you here fast enough. Such a frail creature should not be left out in the cold for too long..."

Thraknash stared at him. It wasn't such an unusual occurrence that an Orc should be at a loss for words and find other, more physical ways of communicating his message, but for what the man was saying he had eloquent answer in neither the language of tongues nor that of fists. "First of all... who the bloody fuck are you and why have you brought me here?" was all he could come up with on such short notice.

"Oh, my prince is impatient. Very well: I am Gramun, the mighty and renowned sorcerer..." he began, not paying attention to Thraknash who claimed that he had never heard of any Gramun before, "...and you have been brought to my house. It is not necessary for you to know our exact location, my sweet. But perhaps you are thirsty? Shall I have my servant bring you Elven wine?"

"No. And you'll stop calling me your sweet if you want to keep your limbs." Gramun laughed lightly, his rich voice echoing slightly in the vast room. Thraknash felt a terrible urge to leap up and sink his teeth into the man's exposed throat.

"Ah, you are indeed a wild one! Long have I desired the beauty of the Elven maidens living in yonder forest, and been disappointed by their demure nature; it was only when I saw the prince of their town that I knew I could have both a beauty the likes of which there are no longer in the world of Men, and an untamed spirit to match the lovely face!" He sighed and laughed once more.

"That's a lot of crap you spout. And what's that about the prince? You have Anguelen somewhere around here, don't you?"

"Is that the wondrous name of my love? How unusual, yet fitting. It suits your fair visage perfectly, however strange its meaning." Gramun's words echoed in the silence that greeted them. His captive gawked at him, yellow eyes wide open.

"You're blind." It was, of course, more of a statement than a question, and those two words made Gramun wince slightly.

"Indeed have I been robbed of my sight by that varlet wizard, Saruman! Six years of my life have I wasted in darkness – but fear not, my lovely one, for after I have finished my potion, I shall look upon you with my own eyes," he said pompously. He turned said eyes to Thraknash and made a face as though he could see the Uruk.

"Does this mean you've actually locked Anguelen up as an Orc, you Troll-dung-for-brains? Look, unless your servant is as blind as you are, I don't know how in the torture of Utumno you could have mistaken one of the Uruk-hai for an Elf!" Thraknash's claws were itching to be buried in Gramun's flabby flesh, even as the mention of Saruman somehow registered in the most remote corner of his mind. The sorcerer just shook his head. He walked a bit closer to Thraknash, allowing him to imprint his features – wavy, grey hair, light blue eyes, the lines of age on his face – on his roiling mind.

"You need not worry, my kitten. No member of that fell race was found near you; you are quite safe here."

It was hard to tell which made the proud Uruk more furious; the insultingly sugary endearment or the slandering of his kin. In any case, the combination of them both was enough to make Thraknash see red – and a second later his field of vision was spotted with black as the iron restraint round his neck pulled him back onto the floor. A horrible roar of absolute rage ripped its way out of his throat as he noticed that his hands were manacled as well.

"How you are impatient! I do apologise for having to chain you to the wall, but I knew you wouldn't give in to my charms in such a short time," came the sorcerer's infuriatingly sweet voice from the door. "Now, I must tend to other matters, but rest assured that I will be back later."

"You unbelievably stupid bastard! I'm a Great Orc, of the race first bred by Sauron the Abominable in the wasteland of Mordor! _I am of the Uruk-hai, do you hear_?" Gramun opened the door and without any sign of being startled by Thraknash's outburst, bade him adieu.

"We shall see each other soon, my pet," he said. Before the sputtering Orc could think of anything equally nasty to say, a Dwarf came in through the open door, carrying a tray with a bowl of water on it. He put the tray on the cold floor and pushed it to Thraknash with a long stick.

"The old fucker must be deaf, as well," the Orc grumbled. The Dwarf regarded him briefly, then laughed like he was choking on something too soft and sticky to be swallowed.

"Nay, he hears perhaps a bit too well, Master Uruk," he sneered. "He simply hears what he wants to hear."

"Then why don't you tell him he's bloody _wrong_?" howled Thraknash, on the verge of flying into another rage.

"But it is so much better for me to remain silent. You see, the master hates Orcs of any kind, but he will not believe anyone who tells him that he has one under his own roof. I look forward to his reaction." The Dwarf (who Thraknash assumed was that Bolbur he'd heard Gramun speak to earlier) chuckled quietly; and suddenly his eyes turned darker in colour. "And that does not mean I'm too fond of you lot, either. Do you know what happens when Master regains his sight? He sees you, goes to his little armoury and chop! cuts your head off with his Elven sword!"

"That's something to be looking forward to, I'm sure. If you hate us Orcs so much – and I quite despise you Dwarves too, might I add – then why don't you just kill me right now? Save me the pain of listening to that old scum."

Bolbur gulped audibly. He looked around the room, as if to make sure no one else was there.

"Master would be so angry," he whispered. He fiddled with his short, fat fingers for a while before the look in his eyes turned sharp and mean again. "Oh yes, he would kill me without a second thought, like he did all the... and anyway, it will be a lot more entertaining for me to see him slay you himself."

With that, he left the room without another word for Thraknash. The Great Orc so callously debased leaned against the icy stone wall, warmed by thoughts of bloody revenge.

* * *

Meanwhile, Anguelen had woken up in the forest with a headache quite similar to that of Thraknash. When he noticed that his new lover was missing, he for once did justice to his elven heritage and started looking for tracks; in a few minutes he was following the trail left by the Dwarf and the rather large, heavy person he had been dragging with him. Anguelen had his own ideas of who could order such a thing done, and he muttered silent curses at the bastard responsible.


	4. Into the fire of passion

The voice of the sorcerer was deep and quite loud, but it could not drown out the other voice in the room - namely, the low, tortured groaning of the Orc chained to the wall. To an outsider (or just anyone with half a brain) the scene would have seemed ridiculous at best: there was a blinded man standing in the middle of the room, his other senses just as oblivious as his sight, reciting bad poetry in his halting Sindarin to a very mad Orc who very clearly could not understand a word of it and yet was tormented by it.

"_I will feel no pain, I will feel no pleasure – especially no pleasure."_ Thraknash didn't think much of this Saruman, but he had heard the Uruks of Orthanc repeat his little speech when they thought they were alone and no one could see them in their moment of uncertainty. The part that spoke of feeling no pain sounded very good right now, since Gramun was not going to shut up in a long while by the looks of it. "_I will feel no pain, damn it all!"_

Gramun paused suddenly.

"Doth hearing these verses in the language of thy people please thee, O exalted jewel of the woodlands? Dost thou already wish thou couldst hearken to them in the embrace of mine arms?"

What could Saruman claim to know about _true_ pain?

* * *

Anguelen smiled grimly. He knew of only one person stupid – or desperate – enough to send a Dwarf to do his bidding in a forest; able and cunning they may be, but one could read their tracks like a picture book for illiterate peasants.

"_You've stolen from me, old man..."  
_

Cackling with bloodthirsty delight, the young Elf increased his speed.

* * *

"You haven't touched your food, I see." Bolbur stood a good four metres away from Thraknash, head slightly tilted as if he were examining the Uruk's mental state.

"It won't stay in," came the grumbling voice from the floor. Thraknash was twitching uncontrollably, but he figured he could still maintain his grip on sanity – provided that he was left alone to heal for a couple of years with no damned Men or Dwarves or Elves in sight... or maybe just Anguelen. Even if he was a bit young and immature, he wasn't really that bad for an Elf. But if that 'sorcerer' was going to come back and subject Thraknash to any more of his 'poetry', he would somehow find a way to bite his own head off.

"Fascinating. I have always wanted to see how long it would take to break an Orc in captivity." The Dwarf picked up the stick he used to push food and water to the captive and pulled the untouched bowl of food to himself. "It has been... what? Six hours? Fascinating indeed. I wonder what would happen to you if you could actually understand any of his poems."

Thraknash responded by turning his head to the side and vomiting noisily. Spitting out bile and Orkish curses and doing his best to hit Bolbur with them both, he reminded the Dwarf of the reasons why exactly it was so much better to kill Orcs rather than take them prisoner. He made a grimace of disgust and walked out of the room as fast as his stumpy legs could take him. Drawing a deep breath, he ignored the obviously rabid creature yelling after him and slammed the door shut much in the way he would have liked to shut the Orc up: with violence unnecessary under the current circumstances. That foul race simply had no redeeming qualities at all, every single one of those abominations spawned in the very bowels of the earth deserving a death by blade. The only thing he imagined the vile specimen of that blasphemous race raging behind the closed door to be good for was to get Gramun riled up for a change. It would serve the fool right for never listening to anyone. Bolbur had done what he could to make the third-rate sorcerer change his mind about stealing the obnoxious son of the Elven king, and for years he had succeeded. Then there had been that unfortunate encounter with Saruman the White who would certainly not take kindly to someone who so persistently ignored what was being said to him. Bolbur still found fresh amusement in the memory of his master's first day back home after Saruman had blinded him with a curse his puny powers could not block. Gramun had, despite years of inhabiting the house, managed to hit his knees on every chair in his way and knock down several vials while searching for a cure. Then he had gone nuts.

"Bolbur, I must have the prince of the woods right now," he had said to his still snickering servant.

"But Master, all these years I have told you it is nearly impossible to capture him, for he is well guarded and protected. Why cannot you simply choose a maiden the Elf-king is not keeping an eye on?" Bolbur had asked Gramun. The sorcerer had waved his arm impatiently, sweeping down another bottle from the shelf he had been examining.

"Why? _Why?_ Have you not seen them with your own eyes when the most beautiful of them dance until dusk in the woods? They are ever-young and lovely to look at, but their voices are painful to the ears and their manner of speech much too demure and childish."

"Well, they _are _quite young -"

"The prince may indeed be male, but what he lacks in feminine grace, he makes up for in unbridled beauty. Indeed, his spirit is as untamed as his mane of hair, and with such fairness it is easy to forget that he is of the same gender as I."

It was never a pleasant thing to converse with Gramun, but at times it was so unbearable that the resulting pain was almost physical in its intensity. And as for the untamed spirit of the Elven prince, Bolbur had witnessed him display the reckless side of his personality often enough to know the difference between what Gramun liked to call 'unwillingness to abide by the shackling customs of his kin' and 'hitting on his guards when his father wasn't looking'. But Gramun was as blind to the more unpleasant characteristics of the prince as he now was to the world in general, and so Bolbur had continued to serve as his spy. The stupid Elf always seemed to hang around things he should not even have knowledge of in his inbred little society, which made the task more difficult than it was worth and added an element of danger Bolbur didn't really care for. Most of his time he had learned to spend loitering around before his target was returned by whatever it was that had thought he would make an easy victim. And so it had taken him six whole years to -

"_Bolbur!"_ The Dwarf was shaken from his memories by the same voice which occupied most of them. Having learned long ago that pretending to not be there would only make the sorcerer call out in an increasingly obnoxious tone to him until he finally responded, he acknowledged the presence of his master immediately.

"How is my sight-restoring potion coming along?"

"In fact, I was on my way to inform you that it is completed, Master. Soon you shall see the prince again after six years of blindness," Bolbur answered, barely containing the malicious chuckle that rose within his chest. "_And boy, are you going to be surprised, you ignorant git!"  
_

"Excellent! Yes, after six years of having no light except for the memory of his face, I shall once again bask in that light!" And so Gramun left Bolbur by himself to go drink the potion. The Dwarf decided to visit his own small armoury to fetch his bow. He wasn't much of an archer, but the corpse of the Orc would be a great target to practise on – after Gramun had decapitated him, of course. This time he did not bother to stop himself from laughing.

"Hmm. I did not expect being the slave of that man to be such an amusing task." Something in Bolbur's stomach felt intensely cold for a second before he reminded himself that he was a Dwarf, and as such, feared nothing. Squinting his beady eyes, he saw the Elf-prince at the entrance of the armoury, examining rather casually the few weapons inside. "Then again, judging by the state of the front door lock, he probably never makes you do anything servants are normally supposed to do."

"He does not pay much attention to the state of the house."

"I'll say. Too busy stalking me, is he?" The Elf picked up the bow from Bolbur's hands. "He wouldn't happen to have a certain Orc here, would he? I lost him some seven hours ago and I'm kind of pissed off that someone had the balls to take him from right under my nose."

"Yes... that demonspawn I brought here instead of you. Even if I cannot have the chance to slay the beast myself, my master will be more than glad to do it as soon as he can see it." Bolbur could see why the prince would be a bit miffed at the loss of the Orc; the Elves he had seen had often demonstrated a rather possessive nature and were not likely to forgive theft of even something as insignificant as an intended target. This young Elf was probably no exception. "Why – you should just be glad that it is going to be killed by someone with experience, something a sheltered youth such as yourself is not likely to -"

"You thought that I was going to... kill him?" There was an unbecoming expression of confusion and anger on the Elf's face. "Are you just trying to lie yourself out of this mess or something? Why would I want to kill him? Have I perhaps overrated your intelligence and you are, in fact, just as imperceptive as your master?"

"I... what... he isn't your enemy, then?" Just as the Elf's expression turned downright haughty at such stupidity, a furious scream could be heard from the room which held the Orc captive. It wasn't the Orc's voice. "Well, that's my master having one of his fits. I suppose he can see the Orc now."

The Elf considered this for a second. He took a quick look at the contents of the armoury and noticed an axe in the corner. He picked it up.

"Never mind what your part really was in this mess. You may be as dim as the Two Trees once Melkor was done with them or just playing innocent and I don't really care which; all I'm sure of is that you've helped endanger the life of my boyfriend. Die." All this had been a bit much for Bolbur, and the combined shock of seeing his attempt at annoying Gramun fail in such a strange fashion and finding out what the horrible being in the chain room meant to the Elf left him quite defenceless. He didn't put up much of a fight as his own axe filled his field of vision, falling down on his face swift and deadly.

* * *

"I shall ask but one more time, abomination! Where is Prince Anguelen? What have you done to him? I command you to answer!"

"In case it failed to reach your muck-filled ears the ten first times I said it, you festering piece of fly-infested garbage, I shall repeat it one more time: you never caught Anguelen, you've kept me here for Morgoth knows how many hours, and I'm so pissed off I'm going to rip your stomach open and hang you with your own wobbling intestines. You're an insipid waste of flesh and bone and I hate you." To Thraknash, this kind of response was perfectly reasonable, but Gramun insisted on continuing his long tradition of failures in grasping the seriousness of the situation he was in and generally misunderstanding what the fuck was going on.

"If you will not tell me what you have done to my love, then I shall slay you with this sword!" The sorcerer lifted the finely crafted instrument of death above his head. "Speak now, demon of darkness!"

"I fucked him. I lost count how many times."

"_So be it!_" screeched Gramun, now fully intending to cleave his livid adversary.

"Drop the sword, shit your pants if you wear any, and prepare to die. In that order." The abruptness of the interruption was so unexpected that Gramun did, indeed, drop the sword and swirl around. Before his eyes, with a drawn bow, stood the Elf he had intended to make his bride no matter what his thoughts on this plan were. "Always wanted to say that. Well, Thraknash, I see you've got yourself in a bit of a bind there."

"The golden prince of the woods!" stated Gramun, unable to make sense even so close to death... which came but seconds later as Anguelen let go of the arrow. It flew its course straight and true and neatly embedded itself in the sorcerer's jugular vein. While the shaft blocked the fountain of blood that would otherwise surely have erupted from the sorcerer's wound, quite a lot of it found its way out through Gramun's gaping maw. He gargled a bit and fell to the floor, as dead as a mortal could get.

"Nice shot," complimented Thraknash.

"Well, actually, I was aiming in the general direction of his heart..." Seeing the expression on the Orc's face, Anguelen sighed. "Will you stop looking at me like that! I was agitated and couldn't aim very well! Could happen to anyone, you know."

"All right. I'm not complaining as long as the result is death. Have you got the key to these manacles?"

"Sure, the Dwarf had it. Although..." Anguelen took a closer look at Thraknash and his restraints. He grinned. "I don't know... I get this funny sort of feeling when you're just chained to the wall, just like that..."

"What are you on about now? Are you going to unlock these things or not?" Thraknash briefly considered getting angry if he wasn't released soon; his already shallow well of patience was pretty much drained by now and he really didn't feel like staying in the house any longer than absolutely necessary. Anguelen bent down and looked at Thraknash.

"Beg me," he said.

"_Beg_ your pardon?" Thraknash asked, anger swept away by yet another way the Elf flabbergasted him.

"It's just that I think I like seeing you like that, all manacled and bound. I feel like I can do _anything_ to you. Do you want to see me do _anything_ to you? Thraknash?"

"What's going on?" asked Thraknash weakly, even though he had a pretty good idea of what was going on and he had just _known_ that the randy lunatic would start doing something really weird at some point. The coldness of the wall against his back and the metal on his wrists and neck contrasted by the hot breath of the Elf made his skin tingle all over. Even as his mouth was getting dry, his hands felt damp.

"Just testing you," Anguelen said cheerfully. "I thought you might be into something like that."

"What makes you think I'd like to be tied up?"

"I don't know, the fact that the tower of Barad-dûr has somehow appeared under you tunic could be some indication," Anguelen said, removing the iron restraint he had somehow managed to unlock without Thraknash noticing. The Uruk looked down only to see that he was right. He squirmed uncomfortably, eager to get away from the chilly wall as soon as the handcuffs were off.

"Well, I hope you can stand up on your own," Anguelen provoked.

"I'm not dignifying that with an answer. I just hope you understand how sick I am of this house and that corpse on the floor and agree to get out of here with all speed."

"Just a moment, I'd like to take a look at this old fool's sword... why, this used to belong to my grandfather! No wonder he could never find the bastard who nicked it!" Anguelen held the sword, testing its weight and balance. He swung it a couple of times for practice and made some pretty deep gashes on Gramun's body. Good thing he couldn't complain anymore. "I think I'll just take it with me. It's not like Father deserves anything this brilliant, and he's got plenty of swords already. So, you wanted to get out of here..?"

Thraknash answered the question by grabbing his arm and hauling him out of the room. As he had been brought to the house unconscious, he let Anguelen show the rest of the way out. At one point they walked past Bolbur who was still staring wide-eyed at nothing in particular anymore, but as he presented no obstacle to them, ignored his still cooling body. It was with great relief that they made it out and back into the woods.

"Well, here we are again, in the bloody forest," Anguelen pointed out the obvious. Thraknash could only agree. "How long do you think it'll be before we start running across any villages or maybe cities?"

"Could be weeks or even months... Travelling should be easier now with the war long over, but back when I arrived here with my tribe right afterwards, it took us nearly six months with all the injured slowing us down."

"Well, we have time, don't we?" When Thraknash only nodded, Anguelen decided to take a break from talking as well. Oddly enough, even though they hadn't really known each other for a very long time, the silence did not seem in the least bit uncomfortable. The only sound they could hear was Thraknash's boots grinding the undergrowth back into the ground with every heavy step.

"Hmm..?" A bird descended on Anguelen's shoulder from a nearby tree, singing and chirping as birds are wont to do. "Would you look at that... I just hope it won't shit on my shoul -"

Those who have wings tend to be faster than those of us who cannot fly, and this bird was no exception. But Thraknash, the strong and fierce and mighty pissed off warrior of the Uruk-hai, was faster.

* * *

"All I can say is how in the name of Varda are you able to eat that thing raw?"

"What do you mean? If I roast the bird, it won't taste like blood anymore!"

"That's remarkably disgusting... let me have a whiff."

"Do you want some?"

"I'm not eating raw bird."

"Come on, it's tasty..."

"Well... save me the wings, then?"

"Sure. Look, you only have to ask, and the head is yours, too."

"No thanks, just the wings, please."

"But the head's the best part..!"

"I'll give you head if that's what you want."

"Hmm?"

"Finish the one you're eating now and I'll show you."


	5. A Silvan Encounter

"Hey, Thraknash! I didn't notice you had a whip before! Can I take a look at it?"

Thus began their conversation anew after Anguelen had managed to stay quiet for ten whole minutes. How he had failed to notice the bullwhip the Orc had been carrying all along was something of a mystery, and one that neither of them was going to bother to solve.

"Why? You can see it perfectly well where it is."

"But I want to try it out a bit! Just for a minute, please?" whined the boy. The Uruk immediately complied; there were many things that unnerved him about Anguelen (such as that fact that he had called Thraknash his boyfriend and told him about it afterwards), and whining had the habit of making his skin prickle unpleasantly. Anguelen took the whip eagerly and slashed at the air with a tad more enthusiasm than seemed healthy.

"It – it's amazing..."

"Well, it should be amazing, considering that it was made by our best whip maker. Perfectly suitable for war, too. If you know how to use it, you can easily flay the flesh off your victim's bones," Thraknash explained, pleased that his... 'boyfriend'... could appreciate such great craftsmanship. That is, until Anguelen got that strange look in his eye again and started to fondle the handle, casting a sidelong glance at Thraknash. A cold shiver ran up and down the Uruk's spine in a blind panic before buggering off altogether.

"And as you can see, it's... uh... a dangerous weapon. It would really, you know, hurt if you were to hit someone with it," he concluded in a small voice.

"I thought it would be fun to see what else it might be good for..."

No.

No no _no_.

"Let's just say it's good for tearing off chunks of flesh and leave it at that, all right?" Thraknash offered, taking a couple of steps away from the obviously demented Elf.

"Oh."

The Uruk walked on stiffly, a constant tension between him and the Elf. Would he really use such a terrible weapon for his immoral purposes? Anguelen ran a finger along the coarse surface, smiling at some private horror and getting closer to Thraknash. The Uruk twitched.

"A weapon, Anguelen. You did hear me when I said it was just a weapon?"

"Sure, sure..."

Anguelen placed his free hand on Thraknash's shoulder and pushed him against a conveniently placed pine. Getting quickly on the other side of the tree, he wrapped the whip round the Orc's wrists.

"You really were serious about this thing being designed for battle only. It's pretty difficult to make a decent knot with it," he muttered. Thraknash sighed.

"I could've told you that," he said with resignation in his voice. "What are you trying to do, anyway?"

"Finish what we sort of started at that sorcerer's house. Try to cooperate a bit, will you?" Anguelen said, finally managing to force the whip into a very loose knot. "There, that'll have to do."

"Look, I'll not be pleased if I won't be able to walk after this, you hear? Anguelen?" Pressed against the tree, Thraknash could feel it shiver, its bark crawling at the Orc's touch. "_And you stop doing that before I mow you down, you pest-infested git," _he thought crossly.

"Think about it like this," the Elf breathed. "Not only will you get laid, but after this there's no way I can tease you about being a virgin in any way, shape or form."

Thraknash thought about it for approximately three seconds. It sounded like a good idea at the time.

* * *

"Do you always have to overdo everything?" asked Thraknash almost two hours later, completely out of breath but satisfied.

"Sorry about that," replied Anguelen, quite obviously not sorry at all. He managed to smirk even as his tone of voice turned slightly concerned. "Can you walk properly?"

"Don't patronise me," was the Orc's answer. To flaunt his prowess in this complicated task, he took a few shaky steps. "See? The epitome of endurance."

"Good, good... well, now that it's established that I won't have to carry you or anything, there's something I needed to talk to you about," Anguelen said, preparing for another leap from the topic at hand to something completely different. "I don't know if you've noticed, but we haven't really eaten much in the last couple of days."

"No, I guess we haven't. Wait... are you trying to tell me that's why you nearly passed out just now?"

"That was one of the reasons," Anguelen said, leering. "That trick you did with your tongue kind of took me by surprise... but as I was saying, we never took any food with us and we haven't hunted for any meat. I'm not saying the bird we ate a while ago wasn't delicious – and you can stop looking at me with that told-you-so smirk, thank you very much – but what I guess I'm trying to say is that I'm sodding starving to death."

"Some Elf you are. Then why don't you catch that rabbit over there so we can have a decent meal?" suggested Thraknash; there was no way he was going to start hunting in his condition. Anguelen looked at the rabbit. Why it had chosen to place itself in such a way that they could easily see it he knew not. He just grabbed one of Thraknash's long knives and leapt into action. The rabbit's eyes crossed in fear before it bolted, a split second from getting impaled by the dark blade.

"_And I wasn't even being serious... oh well. Better make sure he won't let our food get away," _the Uruk thought and half-limped after the Elf.

Anguelen was, despite his Elf-speed, having trouble following the rabbit. The little bugger was most assuredly lacking in the brain department, but otherwise it was very fast. Keeping his eyes on the prey, the Elf barely noticed the several tree branches, roots and stones that kept slowing him down. Suddenly, the rabbit was in the air, gracefully leaping over a fallen tree. Anguelen grinned. Preparing himself for the kill, he hit his top speed and jumped after the daft animal.

What he hadn't expected was for the trunk to have been hiding a very steep slope behind it. The thought "_Oh, shit," _crossed his mind as he watched his meal land with uncanny skill and continue its way down the slope. Anguelen braced himself, readied the knife he was holding, and hit the ground. Upon opening his eyes, he noticed that the portion of raw meat on four legs had avoided the blade, run from between a pair of short legs and disappeared into the forest, never to be seen again. He also noticed that he was kind of sore from falling.

Not to mention the fact that there was someone with short legs in front of him.

Anguelen looked up into a pair of dark eyes that were staring at him in what could be described as an expectedly dazed fashion. For a moment, he wondered if Bolbur had returned from beyond the grave in which he had never been buried; then he realised that the Dwarf looked drastically different from Gramun's domestic one. Anguelen slowly got up, pulling the knife from the ground as he rose.

"How do you do," was the first thing he thought of saying. There was no response. "Bloody rabbit, I was so close to getting it," he continued.

"That is hardly a recommendable way to hunt, Master Elf," the Dwarf told him. Anguelen wasn't sure if he was taking the piss or not; no one called him Master outside his bedroom. And come to think of it, it had been only once that someone had called him Master _in_ his bedroom. His father would have disapproved of his using a guest for his private amusement, but the mortal had been so submissive and willing. Pity he had been dethroned.

"Would not a bow have been a more suitable weapon for felling a rabbit?" asked someone else with barely concealed sarcasm. Anguelen saw the Dwarf's companion, another Elf with his bow drawn but not pointed at him. Standing near him were two familiar-looking Orcs, eyeing Anguelen and the arrow that was about to pierce them. The smaller of them was shivering and hiding behind the other's back.

"Are you still alive down there?" called Thraknash, making the two strangers jump. The Elf kept an eye on the smaller Orcs, but seemed ready to fight this new threat as well, and the Dwarf held his axe with belligerence in his eyes. Thraknash looked from these potential enemies to Anguelen to the other two Orcs, pondering which one of them he should deal with first. "Krazum? What are you doing there with Gruzlak? Have you two eloped or something?"

"I should ask you the same question," spat Krazum. "Besides, since you decided to leave the tribe, it's none of your business why we're here."

"However, _I_ have demanded to know what you two are doing in this forest, and I still await your answer," said the strange Elf, still aiming at Krazum.

"Thraknash! He's trying to kill us! Do something!" squealed Gruzlak.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Elf! I can understand your urge to kill Krazum, but not even Chief Gorluk would bully Gruzlak! It's like killing a gnat with a sledgehammer," Thraknash snapped.

"That's right! You bully little Gruzlak over my dead body!" exclaimed Krazum, ignoring the strange glances he got from everybody else and accepting Gruzlak's worshipful stare. "But don't you start with that 'let's do away with Krazum' horseshit again! I'll have you know that I'm here on a mission from Gorluk himself!"

Had Thraknash possessed visible eyebrows, he would have raised one of them in a haughty manner. As it was, the strangers did the job for him.

"What is it that your chieftain has commanded you to do?" asked the Elf. Krazum, realising his mistake, decided to shut up before he could give anything else away. Anguelen, having recovered from his little fall, saw his chance to intervene had arrived.

"There's no need to kill them, and I'm not just saying that because without them, I'd never have met Thraknash," he began. It was as far as he got before the Dwarf raised his axe and brandished it at him.

"What kind of an Elf are you, to befriend such a thing?"

"My kind of Elf. And kindly stop shoving that thing in a total stranger's face, stumpy."

By this time, Thraknash had made it down to where everybody else was. He had his sword out of its sheath and he looked far from being pleased.

"Back off, shortarse, unless you want me to make you another foot shorter. And you can shut your gaping hole too, Krazum! I'm not in the mood to be listening to your idiot comments," he snarled, sensing a barrage of insults such as 'aww, Thrakkie-poo is defending a golug' coming from the other Orc's direction. The Elf finally lowered his bow, deigning to smile coldly at his companion.

"Did I not tell you that the forest was grieving in pain, son of Glóin? Did I not make it clear to you that the trees were frightened into bedlam by the presence of some creature of darkness?" he asked, the _told-ya-so_ tone in his voice clear and high.

"Well, I suppose we _did_ make quite a lot of noise..." said Anguelen with a completely straight face. The Dwarf ignored him and snorted at the Elven archer.

"You surprise me, son of Thranduil! I've never known you to pass a chance to get smart with me, but to think that you actually made me wait so long this time!" he chuckled. After a moment of pretending to be offended, his friend joined him in his mirth. Thraknash shrugged and sheathed his sword. All weapons lowered, the hostility went down quite a few notches.

"I don't understand what they are all laughing at. We were just about to get killed," Krazum grumbled. Gruzlak, in a fit of sudden bravery, asked if they could go free now that there was no reason to slay them. The strangers, the names of whose fathers were apparently more important than those of their own, looked at the small Orc. The Elf shook his head.

"We still do not know what evildoing you two are up to," he said, "and I have yet to meet an Orc that was not up to something evil, so -"

"Oh, well, Thraknash here hasn't been doing anything naughty that wasn't completely acceptable during the time he's spent with me," Anguelen announced, seeking to deflate the anti-Orc sentiment heavy in the air. The son of some bloke called Thranduil looked at him suspiciously.

"I still find it peculiar that one of our kind would travel with," he paused, probably thinking of a word that was not overly insulting but still capable of giving voice to his disapproval; coming up with none, he unimpressively continued, "with such a thing. How can you be certain that it will not betray you?"

"How _dare_ you assume I'm stupid enough to ruin a good thing when I..." began Thraknash, stopping immediately as Krazum looked like he was going to be childish and mock the Uruk's syrupy dedication to his lover. "Don't even think about it, you bowel-prowling parasite!"

Raising an eyebrow, the Elf who just wouldn't introduce himself voiced his disbelief over the fact that an Orc could be a suitable travelling companion to an Elf. However, the thing being that he travelled with a Dwarf himself, he was willing to overlook racial matters in exchange for proof of the fact that the Orc was of a noble enough breed to refrain from stabbing them all in their sleep.

"Oh, you wouldn't believe how noble he can get! It's a miracle he hasn't strangled me at night when I nearly smother him!" exclaimed Anguelen. "But if it's proof you want, no problem. Go on, Thraknash, say something beautiful!"

The Uruk blinked, looking a bit lost. Then he composed himself, shrugged and spoke. "All right." He thought for a while, then said soulfully:

"Tonight is so hot

take your clothes off by the lake

and there, bend over."

"Heart of a poet, I tell you," Anguelen said, wiping his eyes.

The strangers looked at each other. Apparently, they were so struck speechless by such beauty and poetry that they could no longer deny Anguelen his lover of choice. Well, not that they could have done much about his choices in any case, but Anguelen interpreted their continued silence as a sign of approval. He nodded.

"And now, with that out of the way, would you happen to have any food?"

He only got an incredulous stare in response, and even that was cut short by a strange, ominous noise coming from the distance. It was like the rumbling of a coming storm, only it wasn't coming from the sky, and both Elves could hear the trees screaming in fear of the unknown. Krazum cringed like the Dark Lord himself was cross with him.

"I knew it! We should've been faster, we should've run! Now it's too late!"

The weapons were raised again. The source of the noise was coming nearer, the rumbling becoming louder. They waited.


	6. A Fondle Farewell

None of them was quite sure what to expect from the infernal racket, and so they all managed to be quite surprised when what looked to be a small army of Orcs jogged from the woods at a sadistically brisk pace, led by one giant of an Uruk. As soon as they saw the Elf and the Dwarf with their weapons ready, they stopped in their tracks in perfect, if unnatural for Orcs, unison. A tense silence like a drawn bowstring vibrated between the two sides; the two warriors were greatly outnumbered by the Orcs, but it was clear that they were perfectly capable of wounding and killing even some of the most seasoned veterans facing them.

The Dwarf decided to leave strategies to Elven wimps and just let the slaughter begin. With a mighty roar, he swung his axe at the leader of the Orcs, only to be blocked by the sword of his swiftly thinking bodyguard. The leader himself wasn't too slow, either; the moment his adversary was ready to attack again, the Uruk swept him to the side with an almost absent-minded swipe of a thick, muscular arm. The Dwarf's chest was protected by his chainmail, but some of the spikes on the Uruk's armour made deep wounds near his collarbone.

"Little shit," he hissed at the prone form at his feet. "And don't even think about shooting, Elf. We're not here to waste our time battling the likes of you."

"Chief? We tried to come back and warn you, but..."

"Shut up, Krazum. Did you seriously think I'd send you two to do anything important and expect you to succeed? I was rather hoping you'd get yourselves killed and spare me from any future headaches." Chief Gorluk glowered at his cowering servant, obviously disappointed that even dying seemed to be beyond his abilities. Muttering disgustedly under his breath, he turned his glare back to the Elf. "Stop pointing that golug toothpick at me. We're simply passing through here, and certainly not going to stay."

Before the archer could reply to that, the only voice that had ever made Gorluk feel the frosty hand of fear clench round his heart spoke. "Really? I'd have liked for you to stay a bit longer..."

The effect those words had was immediate and devastating. Chief Gorluk did a full-body twitch, turned impossibly grey and, seized by panic, rolled his eyes in every direction until they spotted Anguelen. It was truly remarkable how quickly he broke into a cold sweat. He ground his teeth together, possibly to stop them from clattering against each other. "Oh, oh shit! Not _you_!"

"It is ever so pleasant to see you again after all these nights of dreaming and hoping..." Anguelen murmured. The ever-present vapid grin on his face probably fooled everybody else into thinking he was simply empty-headed, but to Thraknash it was beginning to seem like a cover for his very deceiving, if rather charming, form of sadism. "Why don't you sit down so we can spend a little time getting to know each other."

Gorluk sat his arse down very quickly, making sure there was no way the Orc-molester could ogle or grope it. The other Orcs followed his example in disturbing synchronisation. The Dwarf got up, confused enough by this new turn of events to ignore his friend mocking him for acting so rashly.

"Really, we're not going to stay in your forest. Just, uh, go over there and turn round and we'll be gone in a second," Gorluk pleaded, trying to protect his backside from Anguelen, who was leering quite openly at him. Thraknash followed the stunted conversation with a great deal of interest.

"Are you truly that busy? We didn't get to talk very much in the mountains, so I thought we could have a little chat right now. So, what have you been up to?" Anguelen asked cheerfully, inching closer to the Uruk chief. The once proud and feared warrior blanched.

"We-we just left the mountains because we're going back East so we can get away from the Elves and Men and - and -" Gorluk stammered. The reason he stopped talking was the horror he felt when he noticed that Anguelen had stopped listening and was staring quite crassly at his crotch.

"Hmm? Go on," he urged, not sounding very interested in what Gorluk had to say.

"So we're just going to collect Thraknash and the two failures and head off to the East..." the chief concluded, very conscious of the gaze of the lust-filled eyes on him.

"As considerate as that is of you, I'd rather stay with Anguelen," Thraknash said calmly. His now abruptly former chief looked at him in shock.

"Wait... is that supposed to mean you left just like that of your own free will? Shit, Moglurz and I were sure you were knocked out and used as some kind of fucktoy by the Elf and the rest of his village! Are you trying to say you actually wanted to get it on with a short-ear?" Thraknash nodded. Gorluk shook his head. "Always knew there was something weird about you. But never mind, I still need my second bodyguard. You can always find some other source of dick on our way to..."

"Possibly, but I'm still staying with him."

Gorluk cut him off with a groan. "Look, I've been pretty damned patient with you before, but you're a bit too stubborn for your own good. You must be under some delusion that I'm giving you a choice in this mat…"

"But Chief Gorluk, if you take Thraknash away from me, I'll be _so_ lonely..." Anguelen moaned, placing his hand on Gorluk's thigh in a perversely innocent manner. The Uruk's jaw dropped and the sound coming from his mouth stopped even remotely resembling speech.

For such a big Orc, Chief Gorluk sure was a fast mover. He was back on his feet in a split second, barely controlling the hobbity shriek tickling somewhere in the back of his throat. "On the other hand, Moglurz does his job just fine without you! We're leaving now, bye-bye!" With that said, he ran like hell. The rest of the puzzled tribe, excluding Krazum and Gruzlak, followed him as best as they could; only Moglurz stayed behind long enough to give Thraknash a knowing smirk and hastily mutter something encouraging at him. Then he was gone, too.

"That was... peculiar," stated the Elven stranger, his conciseness undoubtedly the result of a deep and shocking... well, shock.

"I should've been an interrogator. Did you see how fast he cracked?" Anguelen beamed at Thraknash. Before Thraknash could admit that Anguelen did, indeed, have considerable talent in the questionable art of torment, the other Elf gasped loudly.

"Gimli! You are wounded and you did not tell me!"

"Bah, 'tis nothing to worry about. A wound this small will be healed by tomorrow."

Thraknash coughed. "Yes. If the poison doesn't kill you before that." Gimli's head snapped up, eyes narrowed in disbelief. "That's right, the Chief always liked to coat even his armour with a little something that would at least finish his enemies later if they managed to escape him. But if it's any consolation, the one he uses in his arm-spikes is the least painful."

The Dwarf glared at him suspiciously, but his face was already growing pale from either the poison or the knowledge that it would soon course through his bloodstream. The Elf first looked at his friend, then at Thraknash. "But surely," he said cunningly, "surely you also carry the antidote to such a treacherous weapon? For one of yours might also cut himself on those blades."

"Now that you mention it, yes. Potent stuff. Sort of chases the poison in your veins and destroys it." An expectant pause followed. Thraknash kept feigning interest in the state of his nails for quite some time before the Elf caved in and spoke again.

"What is your price?" he asked, sighing. Anguelen shared a triumphant look with his lover.

"Food." When the stranger seemed to have trouble understanding the fact that he was _not _required to give over his immortal soul to save his friend, Anguelen tried to be a bit more specific. "You know. Bread, meat, anything edible. We're quite hungry." He nodded, trying to look pathetically famished.

"Um... yes. Food, of course." The Elf almost scratched his head in confusion before he remembered that august creatures such as himself never did anything so common. "But first, the antidote..."

"Fine. Krazum, heal his wounds," Thraknash commanded. While Gimli looked quite livid at the thought of accepting medicine from the Orcs, Krazum was positively appalled.

"Why me?"

"Because you're the one who always carries the medicines around, shitwit! Now do it, unless you want to starve to death!"

Grumbling under his foul breath, Krazum prowled over to Gimli. As his gaze fell upon the gashes clearly visible under the torn cloth, his eyes lit up with a strange gleam.

"Legolas. I do not like the way that Orc is staring at my bleeding flesh," Gimli hissed. Legolas told him, though not in so few words, to stop acting like a child. Krazum opened a small jar he had produced from a ratty, possibly literally so, old leather bag, still transfixed by the blood coming from the wounds. He licked his lips nervously.

"Umm... uh..." His nose twitched at the metallic scent. "D'you mind removing some of those tatters, so I can..." he trailed off, raising the jar. At some point, he had begun to shiver and the fresh, hot trickle of red liquid staining the Dwarf's shirt was certainly not placating him.

Gimli did as he was asked, but not without much reluctance. "I'm warning you, Orc... I may not be able to stop you from smelling it, but if you even try to taste my blood..." He let Krazum come to his own conclusions and pulled aside the ruined fabric, revealing how deep the cuts actually were.

"D-don't be ridiculous!" The Orc finally looked away from the blood, taking deep, hungry breaths. Pulling himself together, he smeared the tips of his fingers with the antidote and applied it to one of the cuts. He hadn't been using very much pressure, so the sudden stream of blood that ran over his fingers took him utterly by surprise.

Eyes glittering oddly, he let his hand hang limply at the end of his wrist and stared at it. There wasn't really that much blood on it, but the small amount held his attention with a grip of iron. His skin turned a light shade of grey. "I... I..." Before Gimli could issue another threat, Krazum slapped his other hand in front of his mouth and got up very slowly. Keeping the blood-defiled extremity carefully away from his body, he stumbled out of sight. As soon as he disappeared, the others could hear him retch uncontrollably.

The silence which followed was slightly awkward, to say the least. Gruzlak clenched and opened his fists anxiously, not daring to be the first one to move even though he was clearly aching to go see if Krazum was all right. Judging by the sounds he was still making, he was far from it.

"Gorgoroth preserve our bones. If the likes of him are what they call warrior these days, it's no bleeding wonder we're always on the losing side," Thraknash said with sincere amazement, picking up the jar and slapping some antidote on Gimli's gashes.

"H-hey! That's no way to talk about Krazum! He just came out a bit funny from the last war, it's not his fault!" Gruzlak yelled, his courage surprising but not impressing Thraknash.

"I'm just genuinely baffled how he could have lived with us all these years and no one has noticed his unfortunate little tendency to throw up at the sight of blood. Well, at least now I know why he was never of any use when we went hunting. Probably couldn't bear the thought of killing all those fluffy little animals."

"Oh, shut the fuck up. I hate you." Krazum looked terrible with his pale face and watery eyes, and he wasn't doing too well insult-wise, either. He was scrubbing the bloody hand with a leaf he had torn from some poor forest plant. "Oh Black Hand help me, it's not coming off..."

"This is getting ludicrous..." Thraknash muttered. To avoid dealing with his fellow Orc's mental pain, he turned round in hopes of finding something else to concentrate on – and regretted it immediately. "God_**damn**_."

"_Now_ what is it?" snapped Krazum, sniffling lightly while Gruzlak was doing his best to remove the blood. "Did the others leave droppings or some other shit that offends your delicate little soul?"

"You could definitely say that."

Krazum turned his head; not because droppings bothered him, but because Thraknash sounded quite honestly offended. Soon he understood why. "Well sod me."

Five goblins slept huddled together on the soft moss. Making little sounds in their sleep, they seemed harmless enough for Orcs, and yet Krazum and Thraknash were not very happy to see them there. Anguelen walked up to them, putting his hand on Thraknash's shoulder. "What's this..?"

Krazum spat. "Looks like Chief Gorluk finally managed to drop the little shitheels."


	7. The More the Scarier

One by one, the small Orcs stirred from their slumber as Thraknash and Krazum watched them with a kind of hopeless disappointment. Slowly, they untangled their limbs, stretching and yawning.

"Hey, where's the Chief gone?" queried one of them, dark lower lip wobbling.

"He's ditched us!" cried another, the ember-glow of his eyes dimmed by a mist of tears.

"He's buggered off with the tribe and left us with those two ugly trolls!" said the third goblin, pointing an accusing finger at Thraknash and Krazum.

"It's your own fault for falling asleep at the slightest provocation," Thraknash pointed out. "And if you ever mention Trolls in connection with us again, I'll make you swallow those stupid chains you've got hanging all over your clothes." The saucy little Orc wrinkled his severely pierced nose indignantly, but said nothing. He fingered one of said chains, making it clatter. Thraknash easily countered his petulant glare with a murderous glower that had helped him win many a staring contest in the past; soon enough his brave opponent retreated with hardly a muttered obscenity.

"And thus would he plunge us into further abandon, he who reviles us," mused a goblin with limp black hair and limper black clothes. He clutched the Eye Wreathed in Flames hanging from his neck as though attempting to communicate some deep, dark feeling. In the background, Gimli and Legolas could be heard arguing with Anguelen about the sudden addition to their - in their opinion already too large - company of Orcs. Thraknash quickly decided that having some more familiar faces around would not be worth the trouble that would inevitably come, especially when often just seeing those faces was enough to make him want to reach for his whip and flog some sense into the little skunks.

"If you really dislike the idea of staying with us so much, you'll be glad to know that Gorluk and the rest left only a little while ago. Start running now and you'll catch them." Apparently, even that upset the little ones; the one who had spoken first seemed just about ready to sob openly.

"But do they really have to go? I just managed to persuade Gimli and Legolas here to let them stay," pleaded Anguelen. The only hints as to what kind of persuasion had taken place were Gimli holding his reddened ear and Legolas rubbing his limp arm, both looking accusingly at the young Elf. The emotional little Orc squeaked with delight and wrapped his arms round Anguelen's waist with strength his noodly looks easily hid, babbling gratefully in the dialect of the Moria-Orcs and eliciting a chuckle from his saviour. "Not that I dislike this kind of attention, but aren't you a bit young?"

"No, my balls have dropped and all even though I sound like this," the Orc cooed happily. For some reason, the whole thing really upset Krazum.

"Where's your orkish pride, you air-headed pile of worm offal?" he hissed as soon as he had prised the little Moria twit off his new... 'friend' and had him by the scruff of his neck.

"Don't have any," was the answer, followed by a truly disconcerting giggle. Naturally, Krazum threw him away in frustration.

"Look, Elf," he growled. "As much as it might astonish you, there are reasons we don't want those runts around. Voice like a Nazgûl's dying breath and manners of a cockroach, just to get you started. So why don't you keep your ugly nose out of our business and go back to being the Uruk's bitch or whatever the fuck it is you do?"

Anguelen's eyes lit up immediately with a hungry glow. He quickly glanced at the sky. "Blimey, is it getting dark or what! Let's set up camp, eat something and go to sleep," he suggested, winking lasciviously at Thraknash.

"And what exactly would you have us eat?" Gimli asked sourly. His ear was still red.

"Whatever you've got!" Anguelen replied, took one of the pots Legolas carried in his backpack and ran off in search of a streamlet before Krazum realised he had really done nothing about his not-so-kind suggestion. When he did realise it and reacted accordingly, Thraknash thought it best to drag him off for a while, smack him around a little or something. Soon he returned with a lot calmer Krazum.

"Now where have they gone?" Thraknash asked Legolas when it became apparent that the little ones had all buggered off somewhere else.

"I could brook no more of their puerile bickering, so I sent them to do something useful," the Elf explained, helping his friend gather firewood. "The chattering one who said he was called Grishtakh, him I sent to find firewood elsewhere. The quiet Orc and the one with the chains on his clothes -"

"Sharrásh and Gutbrúg."

"Yes, them... I told them to go find us some mushrooms and berries, for we only carry meat and lembas with us. And that curious Orc with the Eye – I do believe he introduced himself as Burzum..."

"Not his real name."

"I see. He left of his own will to aid your friend in finding water for cooking the meat. It is strange – he called me his 'cousin in the Light, that which tortures his soul when night tears away the veil of Dream'."

"You shouldn't listen to a word he says. He's always spewing crap like that; he'll tell you every single thing he can remember of his... 'lives under the stars' or some nonsense like that if you let him. Well, that leaves only Ghâshsag. What's he doing?"

"He is building the campfire, over there," Gimli said, pointing in the direction Ghâshsag had gone. Krazum froze.

"Ghâshsag's building the fire?"

Gimli nodded. Krazum and Thraknash exchanged one alarmed look before bolting and leaving the two friends staring after them in confusion. Since the forest had been practically swarming with Orcs that day, the trees were already in a constant state of distress and so Legolas couldn't have sensed anything unusual. He got up, prompting Gimli to do the same.

By the time they had reached the intended campsite, Thraknash had managed to put out most of the fire. While he extinguished the few solitary flames still licking at the charred ground like a starving Warg, Krazum cornered, as best as such a thing could be accomplished in a forest, a very disappointed-looking Ghâshsag.

"Brainless twit! Haven't we told you a thousand times how to light a fire without burning everything in sight?!" he yelled, shaking his fist like a madman.

"You don't understand, I had it all under control," Ghâshsag said with a strangely soft voice, his eyelids drooping as if with great pleasure.

"_Control_? You call this control, you – just look at this fucking place, you scum, look at what you've done _again_!" Wiping away the spittle that had gathered at the corners of his mouth, Krazum stopped screaming for a while. Hands on his hips, he observed the other Orc's reaction. Ghâshsag took a quick look at the ruined undergrowth and the blackened trees and shrugged timidly.

"I could've stopped at any point," he muttered.

"But you bloody well didn't."

Who knows what kind of amazing rage that conversation might have inspired in Krazum had it continued after that; it was, however, cut short as the rest of the Orcs began to return to the campsite. Anguelen arrived last with Burzum, fortunately not talked to death yet. The Orc in black stared unblinkingly at the destruction in front of him.

"A site of death, in likeness of the barren wastelands we left behind us so long ago," he said as much in awe of the sight as his apathetic nature allowed. "How splendidly it reflects the wastelands of my soul. I would love it, were it not for the fact that I have grown numb against that blessed sting."

"Yeah... what he said," Krazum sighed weakly, his wrath spent. Gimli insisted that he be allowed to prepare the meat (probably because he thought the Orcs would just put something disgusting and possibly highly poisonous in it), at which point Burzum announced that he did not 'partake of the flesh of those who once lived'. And since there was no flesh of a creature that had never lived available, he was given the few withered mushrooms and bitter berries Gutbrúg and Sharrásh had managed to find without having to put too much effort into it.

"Well then, would you like to hear more stories from the time before you were made, Gruzlak?" Krazum asked after they had all filled their stomachs with the meat carried by Legolas and Gimli. The little Orc let out an enraptured squeak and sat up straight to listen properly. He was the only one who seemed happy about the whole thing. "Now, what should I tell you... ah! How about the day Commander Grilták and I went out to steal the secret booze stash of the Olog-hai, and we ended up fighting hundreds of Trolls and their Oliphaunts instead?"

Gruzlak went delirious with joy, unlike Thraknash. "Nooo..! Not sodding Commander Grilták again, the braindead prat! I couldn't stand the wanker when he lived, and you make him sound thrice as annoying!" In an amazing display of insensitivity towards the wishes of his fellow Orc, Krazum immediately began to tell the story to his wide-eyed companion. In less time than five minutes, nearly everybody sitting around the newly lit but controlled fire had sunken in a death-like stupor.

"Why don't we go... ahem, _sleep,_ while they're still so preoccupied?" Anguelen suggested, his lewd tone of voice revealing his true design to anyone who was in any condition to notice. Thraknash immediately snapped out of his impending coma and was just about to follow as Burzum's metallic voice rang out after him.

"May I keep the fire burning while the others sleep?"

"Why? Are you afraid of the dark?" Thraknash couldn't help asking, even though he knew perfectly well the grim Orc probably wanted to 'gaze into the depths of it' or something equally pretentious.

"Of course not," Burzum said airily. "I _am_ the dark."

Long did Thraknash roll his eyes at that.

* * *

After what felt like centuries, Krazum's story dragged itself to what should have been a merciful end, much to the joy of everyone but Gruzlak. Most of the others had never met Commander Grilták themselves, but they were all ready to bow down to whoever it had been that had ended his life. Legolas in particular felt drained and in need of rest. So he and Gimli, after making sure Burzum was not going to do anything stupid with the fire (and more importantly, would make sure Ghâshsag wouldn't get near it), chose a peaceful spot a short walk away from the site.

Legolas closed his eyes for a while in exhaustion, intending to find his rest in the stars overhead once he could better concentrate on them; he had barely managed to calm his senses when a light rustling nearby disturbed him again. Opening his eyes, he couldn't stop himself from twitching at the sight of two spots of a cat-like gleam just above his face.

"Thraknash and that funny Elf are making weird noises," Grishtakh mournfully informed him.

"And what am I to do about it?" Legolas asked, slightly annoyed by his own behaviour. As if he hadn't seen worse during the time he had been part of the Fellowship!

"Well, I can't sleep and I was wondering if I could just sleep here?"

"What do you take me for; your mother?" the Elf snapped, just wanting some peace and quiet. Grishtakh's eyes suddenly went round and moist. He blinked; the look in those huge orbs of green turned curious, somehow childish and tender. "_Sacred excrement,"_ Legolas thought. "Very well: you may sleep here if you can keep quiet."

The Orc actually squealed at that. He also promised to come back soon with the others. Legolas rubbed his eyes in aggravation, muttering something about becoming soft in the head. All in all, it was a promising start for some much needed elven angst; unfortunately it was interrupted by a sound very much like chuckling which came from his friend's direction. Gimli's shoulders shook helplessly, the movement clearly visible even in the darkness of the forest.

"I suppose you find this all terribly amusing," Legolas grumbled. There was no answer apart from Gimli snorting and bursting into open laughter, and soon the Moria-Orcs arrived.


	8. A Convenient Reunion

Now that there's that second Hobbit film on its way with a character that has a fairly similar name, I should probably say that's not where I filched Anguelen's cousin's name from. I took it eleven years ago from Quenya Lapseparma instead.

* * *

The next morning saw a particularly cranky Legolas shove away the Moria-Orcs that had apparently glued themselves to him during the night. Things certainly weren't made any brighter for him by Gimli, who seemed to find infinite amusement in his friend's plight. "Prince Legolas of Mirkwood, valiant hero of the Fellowship of the Ring, mother of five," Legolas caught him muttering to himself on their way to the campfire before he started laughing again.

Thraknash and Anguelen were already awake and sitting down by the fire. Or rather, Thraknash was sitting and Anguelen had sort of propped himself up against him, looking like a cat who had licked the cream right off the mouse.

"Can't believe we used up all the oil last night," he murmured. Thraknash grunted tiredly. "What'll we do now?"

"You're the one who hasn't had a chance for anything penetrative for more than fifty years. Take a guess."

"Guess you're right... except that I'm not sure if it'll be enough anymore, even if we do it together. You've spoiled me, you hear – spoiled me rotten." At this point, Legolas just started to hum and make as much noise as possible while preparing breakfast. The fire crackled gently in the warm summer morning, making Ghâshsag stare and drool.

"Well, I'm flattered, but it's not like I can just conjure oil out of thin air. We'll get it later somewhere else; you're a grown man, you can wait."

"I'm at _that_ age, I _can't_ wait," Anguelen argued.

Thraknash blinked. He was momentarily startled by the shower of sparks the fire spat out when Ghâshsag began to poke it with a stick. "Just out of curiosity, how long does 'that' age last?"

"Who knows. Could be another three hundred years. Could be another Age." He poked Thraknash playfully. "Leaves plenty of time for you to get used to it, don't you think?"

Since he really feared the answer might be something horribly carnal in nature, Legolas coughed loudly and raised his voice. "I assume that you are not the only one of our kind here – that is, there must be a place in these woods where Gimli and I could meet Elves of – how should I put this? – of slightly more traditional standing?"

"Well..." Anguelen began, sinking his teeth into a piece of meat Thraknash had been roasting for him and munching happily for a while. "My father's the self-appointed king of our town in this forest, but you wouldn't like him. He's such a posh tit."

That was enough to silence Legolas – but not Gimli, who went on to enquire if there might possibly be any Dwarves living near. Anguelen almost mentioned Bolbur before remembering that he had finished the fucker off himself; it might not have been wise to inform Gimli of that little incident, considering that he was a far more competent warrior than the dead Dwarf had been. Thraknash, on the other hand, gave the Dwarf a warning glance.

"Let's not talk about Dwarves with the little ones around if the subject can be avoided. They've been surprisingly calm lately, but they get bored easily; and when you've seen one of their 'hilarious' Dwarf-impressions, you've seen them all." When all he got from Gimli and Legolas were quizzical looks, he explained: "They think it's funny to glue moss to their chins and run around yelling 'cor blimey me bollocks're on fire again' while pretending to be drunk. It is depressing to look at."

"You just don't understand our sense of humour," Grishtakh whined.

"Oh, but I do. You have no idea how many nights I've laughed myself to sleep over your _crazy_ antics." This seemed to offend the Moria-Orcs a little, and the rest of the meat was eaten in a frosty silence which was only disturbed by Burzum complaining that he had nothing to eat. The only part Thraknash really liked about the whole thing was the part where he got to wake up Krazum and tell him he had missed breakfast. It was strangely satisfying to watch him yell his head off in a fit of impotent rage – until he claimed the only reason he hadn't been able to sleep in the first place was that he had been so traumatised after hearing Anguelen tell Thraknash to 'take it all like a man'. After that little confession, everybody was quite ready to get going and maybe get out of the blasted forest, too.

* * *

Long did they walk, long enough for the Moria-Orcs to start mewing and moaning about their little feet hurting, which was kind of ungrateful of them; at least the sunlight wasn't ailing them thanks to the trees which blocked quite a lot of the light coming from the sky.

"Uh..." Gruzlak began. "Uh, Anguelen? How long do you think we have to walk to get out of here?"

"I've no idea. Father never really let me come this deep into this direction because he thinks it's too common in these parts. Did I already tell you he's a posh tit?"

Anguelen's reply turned into a bitter monologue which in turn degenerated into incoherent mumbling about how his father's only purpose in life seemed to be to make him sit in his room and do nothing. No one really wanted to listen to that, but they had no choice. And so it was with great relief that they welcomed Legolas's sudden perception of another voice coming from the direction they were walking into; a voice as if someone were singing, singing in the high tongue of the Firstborn. After a while, everyone could hear the voice, and realise that no language in Arda could have made it sound in the least bit pretty. In fact, it downright grated on the noble Elven prince's ears.

They came to a small clearing, the Orcs staying behind to avoid the rays of sun. In the middle of the circle of light sat an Elven woman, no longer singing in that mournful tone which sounded as if it were through some hideous curse that her voice had turned so unlovely. Indeed, there she was making small sounds now, sobbing softly with her smooth back turned to those watching. The clumsy Orcs, in their amazement, thoughtlessly placed their feet so that several sounds alerted her to their presence. She stopped making sound and turned around her slender body, eventually standing up to better see who had disturbed her solitude. Her eyes were shining, her cheeks were a light shade of red; as if as an afterthought, she smoothed the hem of her simple dress back into place.

"Anguelen, you complete _berk_! How come you can't be bothered to visit your beloved cousin in three bleeding years, yet you manage to drop in the exact moment I'm playing with myself?"

"But I had no idea you were still living in this forest," Anguelen defended himself. He was the only one who actually said anything as Legolas and Gimli were kind of mortified and the Orcs didn't want to talk to strange Elves. "And you know Father never tells me anything important. But anyway, it's, well... good to see you?"

"I should bloody well hope so, you rat," she said. When she noticed the company her cousin was in, her mouth stretched into a grin that had struck fear into the hearts of countless mortals for decades before the only one capable of carrying on its proud tradition was even born. "Oh my. Don't tell me you've actually got a harem nowadays."

"Not really... Thraknash here is sort of mine, the rest are just tagging along. Did you want to know what they're called or something..?" At his cousin's curt nod, Anguelen seemed to remember who he was talking to, and introduced his companions as briefly as he possibly could without being even ruder than he already was.

"Another Elf. We haven't got enough of them in these parts, after all." She seemed to be a lot more interested in Gimli, not to mention the Orcs. "My name is Tauremardë. I know, I know, I live in a forest and my name is Forest-dweller, but at least you know what to call me. So, Anguelen, about this new lover of yours... have you already..?" she asked, finishing her sentence with a hand gesture that actually made Legolas grimace as if in pain and turn a very unflattering shade of red.

"What a stupid question. Do you think I can't get it up or something?"

"O Varda but it is good to see you haven't changed one bit," she sighed happily and took Anguelen into a sisterly embrace. And let go about a second later. "All right, that's enough of emotional reunion for one day. Why don't we all go back to my place and get something to eat?"

Before Anguelen could tell her they had already had breakfast (and the others that it wasn't necessarily food she wanted them to eat), the Orcs agreed loudly and followed her through the clearing despite the irritating sunshine. After a few minutes of walking which don't really need to be described here, the whole gang arrived at Tauremardë's home, a surprisingly big house built using both elven techniques and crude orkish practicality.

A small figure stood in the doorway, staring at the crowd with huge doe-eyes. "May I take your coats, good sirs?" he enquired. The very second Krazum laid his eyes on the creature, he took several steps backwards, clutching Gruzlak as if he were the only thing guarding his sanity. Gruzlak did the same and tried to hide behind the larger Orc's back.

"What..? Is that a beardless Dwarf?" Krazum asked, his voice tight with barely controlled panic.

"Is that a _beardless Dwarf minstrel_?" Gruzlak cried, pointing hysterically at the short creature.

"I am but a Hobbit," he informed the Orcs. "May I take your coats, and perhaps codpieces if you so wish?" he repeated in a sorrowful tone.

"I suggest that you not let go of your codpieces in this house," Anguelen warned them, looking pointedly at his cousin. Tauremardë huffed.

"Varda's tits, Anguelen! I have never been so desperate as to molest those much smaller than me." She stepped in, gesturing for the others to follow her. "Besides, none of your friends need fear that I'm going to devour their innocence like some big, horned beast from Utumno. Not anymore, anyway. Anguelen, I'd like you to meet someone I have for that purpose these days."


	9. Reminiscence and Breakfast

"Dûmrakh, honey! Come to the door and meet our guests!" Tauremardë bellowed sweetly. Her words were obeyed almost immediately; an Orc clad in red and dark grey appeared at her side, carrying something alive and kicking in a sack casually thrown over his shoulder.

"Oh, hello... Anguelen, was it?" he greeted, nodding at the others. Tauremardë was beaming.

"Yes, I am still with Dûmrakh, cousin! Aren't you surprised?"

"I certainly am! Ten years with the same bloke – that must be a record for you!" Anguelen agreed. "But what's that you've got in that sack? More Hobbits?"

"No, just the children. The dirty little bastards don't want to take their bath, so I'm roughing them up a bit." As if to show that he meant business, Dûmrakh whirled the sack a couple of times over his head before emptying its contents onto the floor. Two muddy, smelly children sharing both orkish and elvish characteristics fell out, giggling and kicking each other. This time Anguelen was even more surprised.

"Damn it, Tauremardë... it's been only three years since we last saw each other, and you've gone and popped out a couple of brats already. Why didn't you send me a message that you two were going to procreate?"

"Bloody fool, they were born six years ago," Tauremarde scoffed, picking dirt and twigs from her daughter's hair. "Honestly. Even your father noticed I was pregnant. Ruzsnak and Nargoth were some of the reasons I was banished... here, what's wrong with that Legolas bloke again?"

Indeed, the face of the prince of Mirkwood had turned as white as milk spilled onto a slab of complete darkness. He looked vaguely ill while muttering something about "_Blasphemy..."_ and being disappointed in Gimli who, instead of sharing his sentiments, seemed dangerously close to becoming fond of the tiny Orc-Elf hybrids. Anguelen shrugged.

"I have got no idea. But I never saw those two anywhere. Did the Council put them somewhere out of sight?"

"No. They just threw an apoplectic fit and told me to get rid of them. They certainly had some incredible gall, telling me to abandon my own children... of course, I gave them to Dûmrakh for the three years I was allowed to stay in the town with Mother," Tauremardë explained. "Incidentally, how is she?"

"Being pestered by the members of the Council as usual."

Tauremardë rolled her eyes with contempt. "Well, let them all sit on my proverbial cock and drown in my not so proverbial twat. Mother will make them suffer before she agrees to any of their foolish designs." She shook her head angrily and looked quite annoyed for a while before suddenly smiling again and clapping her hands together. "Oh yes, breakfast. A bit too late to call it breakfast, actually, but anyway... TOGO!" The Hobbit jumped. "Oh, sorry, I didn't notice you were still here. Well, since you already heard what I said, you should know what to do. Ah, and no quips about second breakfast this time or I'll send you screaming to your doom."

Togo nodded and skipped perkily to the kitchen, happy that he was not required to take anyone's filthy clothes and could instead do what he was born to do. Dûmrakh picked his unruly children off the floor and headed with them to the bathroom, telling Tauremardë that he would not bring them to the table before at least removing the grime covering their faces.

"Cute little beasts... are they not, cousin?"

"Undoubtedly. But why do you keep calling me 'cousin' all the time? I've a name too, you know!" Anguelen pointed out. Tauremardë looked at him sharply.

"Because I need to constantly remind myself that we're actually related. We may think alike about most things, but when it comes to dress sense, you really take after your father – and that's no compliment."

Anguelen was utterly baffled. "What've my clothes got to do with anything?"

"They're _green_. Bright, dark, obnoxious bloody _green_. I never said this to you before because I had the option of not looking at them when I went back home, but I have no such luxury in this house. I've lived all my life in a sodding forest. I _hate_ green. It makes my head spin, my flesh crawl and my innards shrivel." She stared at her cousin, who seemed perfectly used to such mood swings.

"It's camouflage."

"It's downright offensive is what it is. If you want to play hide-and-go-seek in the forest, you can always wear your horrid _green_ cloak over some nice, dark-coloured clothes – in fact, in that room to your right are some spare clothes which coincidentally happen to be your size. I know they are, because I asked your mother. Please consider wearing them so as to save me from another headache and having to cause you unmentionable pain."

Anguelen looked at his clothes. "Why not. These were beginning to stink, anyway. Come, Thraknash." He opened the door, disappearing in the room with his lover.

Tauremardë sighed with relief. "I thought it would take forever to convince him. Now, the rest of you, please follow me..."

As she led the guests towards the dining room, Krazum walked up to her with a confused look on his face. "I couldn't help but notice that you haven't got any mudpits outside, and I doubt there were any in your town... where did you breed those children? How did you combine your and Dûmrakh's blood to create half-breeds? It must've taken very advanced magic..."

"Oh, we didn't need any of that. I gave birth to them myself."

The Orcs fell silent. Legolas still looked nauseous, but that was nothing compared to the expressions the pit-born Orcs had; the normally so hale greenish colour drained once again from Krazum's face, leaving but a sickly shade of grey in its wake.

"You... but how would you... that is to say, you didn't actually..."

"I carried them in my womb, located near my stomach, for... uh... a very long time, and when they were ready, they came out through my..."

"You carried them inside your own _body_? Like... _parasites_?" Gutbrúg nearly screamed, inwardly fighting against such a monstrous concept.

"That's right," Tauremardë said, barely hiding the pleasure she was deriving from the Orcs' shock.

"How utterly barbaric," Krazum gasped. It looked as though he would not be able to eat after all.

"Nothing unnatural about children being born," Sharrásh muttered and quite expectedly had his logic ignored by his friends.

"I'm never eating Elf-flesh again," Gutbrúg moaned loudly enough for Legolas to hear. Although he couldn't be sure if the Orc was being serious about having eaten the flesh of his kind - to be fair, Gutbrúg did not seem the type capable of felling even a Hobbit - the prince edged away from him like he would from an unwashed cave-troll.

Luckily, they were already in the dining room by the time that little discussion ended. The Moria-Orcs plopped into the chairs listlessly; Krazum was trying to play strong in order to keep Gruzlak impressed, but ended up collapsing anyway. When Anguelen and Thraknash arrived a few seconds later, they were greeted by the lovely sight of one satisfied and nine morose faces.

"Ooh, what's she told you now? Or never mind that, when do we eat?"

"Soon," Tauremardë informed him. She cast an approving look at the mostly black and dark red clothes her cousin was now wearing. "That's a lot better. Dark colours calm the nerves."

"And they look so fucking cheerful. Move your arse, you're not the only one who needs to sit down to eat." Tauremardë moved on the bench just enough for Thraknash and Anguelen to sit. They did that, while Anguelen also squirmed and whinged that his new clothes were uncomfortable.

"Don't worry, you'll be out of them as soon as we get some five minutes of privacy," Thraknash promised. That made the youth squirm for different reasons altogether.

"You certainly know how to get an Elf in the mood..." he breathed. His cousin looked at him with amusement, but told him to save it for later.

"No rutting at the table when there are bratlings around," she said. And sure enough, as if on cue the little rascals ran into the room with much clamour and flailing, squeaky clean and followed by their drenched father.

"We want to sit on the floor!" they proclaimed as Gutbrúg wondered aloud why any self-respecting Orc would want to clean himself up just because of some meal.

"That way the food remains edible even if they stick their little hands into it all the way up to the shoulder – which has happened quite a few times, by the way," explained Dûmrakh. While Gutbrúg couldn't see anything wrong with eating filthy food, the others readily accepted this reason if only to get to the grub already. Soon Togo came from the kitchen, carrying a huge pot full of steaming food – what food exactly, no one could tell, for it seemed that the Hobbit had simply thrown in everything from ram's testicles to mashed potatoes and let it simmer. It looked enticing, mysterious and, through some miracle of Hobbit cookery, delicious.

"Edible enough to eat," Krazum whispered to Gruzlak. It was unclear whether it was supposed to be a very pathetic joke or just an observation, but Gruzlak giggled appreciatively anyway. Without any silly ceremonies that usually preceded meals in ordinary families, the members of this particular family simply started to shovel food into their gaping mouths. A bit later, Togo brought out plates and forks, making the process slightly less messy.

Tauremardë happened to take a closer look at Thraknash's numerous weapons. "Say, haven't I seen that sword before..?"

"Oh, that's Grandfather's. We... got it back a while ago. Long story," Anguelen said, barely bothering to stop eating. He looked somewhat embarrassed. "I asked Thraknash to carry it for me for a while, but looks like I forgot to relieve him of its weight."

"Grandfather's? This is the sword that belonged to Ilyatur the Half-Arsed?"

Again a wave of silence swept over the room. Everybody's eyes were on the weapon, their thoughts turned to the name of the one who had once owned it.

"Yes, my dear Granddaddy." Since Thraknash was wearing a most peculiar expression on his most peculiar features, Anguelen thought it best to offer him an explanation. "He is a proud warrior, fierce and strong. Two centuries ago, he took part in a terrible battle in which many a fine tankard was destroyed and countless barrels of ale were punctured. That is when he got his epithet. You see, he lost his left buttock in a tragical duel between himself and his worst rival."

Tauremardë nodded solemnly. She and Anguelen sat up straight, as if to honour the memory of such a loss. He shook his head, eyes lowered on the now neglected plate. "How we laughed."

The cousins burst into hearty laughter again, shaking and close to tears of mirth. The Moria-Orcs, who had been turning funny colours from suppressing their own cackles, nearly exploded; and they did weep, for the amusement was too great for them. Even Krazum, incredibly sour as he usually was, fell off his chair and could barely get back up again.

"How... disrespectful you are to your kin," Legolas managed to say, doing all in his power to not chuckle. Gimli had given up a long time ago and was banging his fist on the table.

"Well, shit, he's my father's father. I wouldn't feel too sorry for him," Anguelen panted. "Ai... do you remember that feast sixty years ago, when he had just got the new peg buttock?"

"Ah..! The straps holding it in place came loose and so did the but... the butto..." Tauremardë shrieked, unable to finish her sentence.

"And every time he got up to walk, the other half of his arse just bounced up... and down... and fell into the trouser leg..." Anguelen said with great pain as his stomach was cramping already. "Father threw us out for staring at him and laughing, didn't he?"

"Oh yes," Tauremardë agreed. The memories of the Eldar played out even in the minds of those who did not share them, and it took a long time before anyone could calm down enough to resume eating. The children, on the other hand, grew restless when all the grown-ups seemed to be doing was making a lot of noise over some stupid thing that had happened years ago and had nothing to do with them, so they began to smear food all over themselves. When even this failed to draw attention to them, they climbed onto the table and started jumping up and down, spattering their parents and some of the guests with food.

"Now children. If you don't behave yourselves, Mummy will do nasty things with your dessert," Tauremardë said, brandishing the juicy bone meant for the kidlets. "Then you won't be able to eat it anymore. Have we reached an understanding?"

"Yes, Mummy," they exclaimed and calmed down immediately. As a reward, Tauremardë threw the bone onto the floor. Nargoth and Ruzsnak dove at it as vultures at a festering carcass. Ruzsnak got to it first, broke it expertly in half over her knee and gave the other half to her brother. After that, they were just content to sit still and suck the marrow.

"Look at the little beasts gnaw at their dessert like dogs," Tauremardë whispered, eyes misty and full of pride. The sweet little moment was not disturbed even by Legolas groaning and pressing his face into his hands, sobbing something about Arda coming to an end.


	10. A Little Rest and Some Relaxation

When the guests were finally done emptying the pot of its questionable contents, Dûmrakh suggested that they all move to some other room to let Togo clean the table undisturbed. Some privacy seemed to be exactly what he needed, judging by the soulless screech of anguish echoing down the corridor as he saw the mess.

"Morgoth help us... look at yourselves," Dûmrakh exclaimed in frustration upon noticing that his children were even dirtier than before he had washed them. He immediately set to the unrewarding task of peeling off the layers of food hiding their innocent little monster-faces.

"Who's Morgoth?" asked Krazum, getting mostly pitying glances in response. He soon had something else to be puzzled over as Nargoth started making infernal noise again, protesting the removal of the crusty mask of whatever Togo had cooked that distorted his cherubic features. "And _why_ is he screaming like that? I mean, those two have done nothing but act completely irrationally all day. They don't even talk properly."

"They're children," Tauremardë pointed out. The logic of that statement took a while to reach Krazum, but after he figured out yet another thing about the concept of 'child', he just got smug.

"We the pit-made are born ready, you know," he said, swelling with a much-needed feeling of superiority. "We know how to talk from the moment we're separated from the earth, and we don't take forever to develop into maturity."

Since it would have been too safe and easy to make sarcastic comments about the maturity of certain Orcs, Grishtakh instead chose to point out that Gruzlak wasn't ready despite coming from a pit too. While Krazum's mind turned to the task of cramming those blasphemous words right back down the goblin's throat, Ghâshsag tried to show some courteous interest in Tauremardë's offspring by blurting out the first thing that came to his mind.

"So, what do Elf-children eat, anyway? Meat?"

"Oooohh, I _am_ glad you asked..." Tauremardë drawled. The smile that twisted the corners of her mouth made Anguelen sigh in a kind of _there-she-goes-again_ way. "You probably didn't know this, but babies can only use milk for nourishment."

"Oh..? That's not so bad, then?" Ghâshsag was a bit unnerved by the predatory grin playing on the Elven woman's lips, but managed to sound somewhat optimistic.

"Milk which had formed inside my own body, and which I fed to them through my nipples."

"AAAAAAAAAAAAUUGH!"

"I see you still enjoy picking on little ones," Anguelen noted once he managed to calm down the goblins who had so cruelly been introduced to yet another cultural aspect completely alien to them. "I also seem to remember that you picked on _me_ quite a lot when I was little."

"And such a wholesome lad you grew up to be, my dear." Tauremardë smiled in an almost apologetic fashion before turning her attention to her own children. The smile turned into a frown. "Sweetheart, why don't I go wash them? You can keep company to our guests."

Not one to wait for obvious answers, she simply barked an order in what was her dialect of the High Elven tongue but sounded an awful lot like Black Speech; immediately Ruzsnak and Nargoth stopped squeaking like a pair of distressed mice and followed her to the bathroom. After Dûmrakh's obligatory "_how does she do it_" comment, nothing was stopping Anguelen from launching into a musing session about his cousin.

"Sometimes I wonder what exactly it is that makes me so fond of her..."

"Great minds roll in the same gutter?" Thraknash helped.

"There's that too, I won't deny it – but I think the reason I really respect her is her ability to say things like '_oh my'_ and '_dear me'_ as though it's normal talk." Anguelen looked bemused. "And nobody ever makes fun of her for it. How _does_ she do it?"

When Anguelen stopped talking, a complete silence reigned in the room. Dûmrakh kept staring at his hands, and no one else could think of anything to do or say for a long time. Common courtesy kept Anguelen and Thraknash from sneaking out and finding something to amuse themselves with; Krazum was still being indignant; Gruzlak kept stealing quick glances at everyone and lowered his eyes immediately if someone looked back. Sharrásh twitched.

Dûmrakh took a small bundle out of his pocket. Being the only one in the room who knew what to do with his hands, he was soon the target of many an envious stare. He opened the bundle, revealing a slab of roasted meat. Thraknash frowned a little at the lack of blood, but kept looking anyway. Dûmrakh began to eat very slowly.

Perhaps to drown out the sound of tendons snapping painfully loudly in the quiet room, Legolas began to sing quietly, the words coming from the very depths of his star-kindled spirit. His voice was not quelled in the least bit by the glares he got; it rang clearly and beautifully, making something in the orkish hearts shrivel and bud at the same time.

Unfortunately, also in Burzum's heart. "Oh, you express yourself through song as well? I also find joy – dark joy, of course – in music. I just came up with great lyrics a while ago, listen..."

"Orcs do not sing of things of beauty," Legolas snapped, not wanting another reminder of a supposed common ancestry. Completely ignoring that, Burzum stood up straight, surprisingly tall for a goblin of Moria, and cleared his throat. It did nothing to improve his voice, as the others could hear a second later.

_My hands reek of fear and carnage  
I have got no soul  
Step inside my house of pain  
I've come for your brain!_

The sung part was followed by a series of outlandish screeches which the other Moria-Orcs recognised as their own dialect, though with great difficulty as all the vowels and consonants just sort of blended together and eventually became so garbled that it became impossible to make out the words. By the time Burzum stopped 'singing', his impassive eyes were alight with demonic glee, his fangs bared and skin flushed. He was panting.

"I call it 'In the Pandaemonium of Morgoth's Obsidian Heart'. I think I still need to work on the bit that is in Black Speech, 'tis not brutal enough. So, what do you think?"

Anguelen was sitting on the edge of his seat, eyes glittering. He seemed to be in awe of the performance. "I... liked it. Very much." Burzum blushed some more. Everybody could tell he was pleased, for he almost had an expression before restraining himself.

Tauremardë finally returned, but without her children. Her blue gaze fell upon Dûmrakh and the piece of meat he was still gnawing on. She pouted slightly.

"Honey," she said, "honeycomb, why are you stuffing your face with some dead animal when you could be eating my pie?"

Dûmrakh lowered his snack, undisturbed by the furious coughing fit this inspired in Legolas, as well as the amused sound Gimli made. "But you nearly broke my jaw last time, skankiest," he reasoned.

"I love it when you talk dirty to me, you utter bastard..."

"Dirtily."

"What was that, treacle?"

"Dirti_ly_. I speak dirtily; my manner of speech is dirty," Dûmrakh repeated, making gestures with the hand that still had the piece of meat in it. Tauremardë sucked air in through her teeth.

"Still trying to get me back for that time I corrected his syntax," she moaned, looking fondly at the Orc. "I do so love him. Now, cousin dear; you look happy. Is there any other reason besides getting laid more often than once in an Age?"

"Oh, well... it's not as if I want to sound sappy or anything, but I'm just glad to be with my only family members that don't drive me insane. Yea, and I _am_ happy to get laid more often," Anguelen admitted. Tauremardë suddenly got a very strange facial expression.

"Hum... I am glad for you... but you see, I got a message from the town a day ago, and... that is to say, sometimes they send other members of the family to see how I'm doing and make sure I'm not creating an army of darkness with my womb, and there's someone coming tomorrow."

"...great. Who is it?"

"Your brother."

Anguelen frowned. His eyes darkened with great distaste. "My brother." As if acknowledging the apology was not hers to make but still wanting to do something, Tauremardë nodded awkwardly.

Thraknash looked slightly confused. "I thought you were the only son," he said.

"Oh, I'm my _mother's_ only son, that is true. And he's just a half-brother, anyway. A complete pain in the arse, though."

"Your father has sired another son for another lady?" Legolas asked, forgetting politeness in favour of jumping at the chance of talking about something normal such as family trees for a change.

"Same father, different mothers, that's right."

"'Tis unusual, but not unheard of... did your mother fall under the Shadow in the dark times?" For the first time, Legolas was developing something akin to sympathy towards the younger Elf.

Anguelen glanced at Legolas. "Not really. It's merely that Father had this other son with his second wife."

This time, disapproval was creeping into Legolas's voice. "But surely your father has not cast away his first wife..?"

"No."

"Then how would he have anoth... er..." As the awful truth dawned on the noble prince, his eyes went blank and he just sat there quietly, staring at Anguelen.

"That's exactly what the council wanted to know," Tauremardë inserted. "'_What need have you for another wife when the love between you and your first one is still pure and strong_' or something like that they said. But I suppose he at least didn't make that decision alone."

"Mother does rather likes Nárellë, doesn't she? If you know what I mean."

"Oh yes," Tauremardë chuckled. "Still, I can't believe your father has the gall to call us deviant for craving a bit of Orc-flesh, but it's fine for _him_ to go ahead and do whatever he wants no matter what the laws and customs of our kin say."

Legolas began to rock back and forth on his chair, while Gimli wondered aloud how far they had actually travelled, and how different the cultures would turn out to be even farther away from where they were now. As the cousins reminisced over their common memories and thus introduced Thraknash (and some other reluctant listeners) to parts of his lover's past, it slowly but surely got dark outside, marking the end of another day.

"I think I'll go find the kidlets now. They've been playing in the woods long enough for one day," Tauremardë yawned. "Dûmrakh, please show them to their rooms..."

Bidding good night to her guests, she went outside to fetch Ruzsnak and Nargoth. Like a good host, Dûmrakh led the guests to their rooms, taking care to separate Gimli and Legolas from the Orcs and Thraknash and Anguelen from everybody else to give everyone a fair fighting chance at catching some sleep. As if taking this little hindrance as a challenge, Burzum gazed longingly at the lightless forest outside the window of the Moria-Orcs' room while Thraknash stayed behind long enough to remind them of what would happen if they didn't behave themselves during the night. The others gave half-hearted promises to act like good little Orcs, but Burzum opened the window and inhaled the cool air.

"Night has fallen, outside a darkness to unbirth the stars! And now, to join my brethren of the night..." He climbed out of the window and fell to the ground with a light _thud_. The others could only see the unnatural shine of his yellow eyes as he stopped to look behind. "Keep my grave open, I'll return for breakfast!"

"Up to his old tricks again," Thraknash muttered, quickly settling on letting the goblin do as he wished so he could follow Anguelen to their bedroom.

Anguelen had already unbuttoned his new jacket by the time Thraknash closed the door behind him. "Can't wait to get out of these. I hate getting new clothes."

"You should wear fewer of them, anyway," Thraknash told him with more mischief in his voice than he was used to, but it didn't feel out of place; after all, it was not as if some outsider was going to hear him there. He approached the bed, examining it carefully before lying down on the mattress. "It's a mystery to me how anyone can sleep on something this soft."

Anguelen straddled him, pinning him down. "You should be grateful for a soft mattress when you get to sleep on one," he murmured with a smile. "Or at least you _will_ be when I nail you to it."

Thraknash looked up at him with challenge in his eyes. The Elf's raging hormones immediately sparked into action as they stared at each other, the temperature in the room rising quickly.

And the atmosphere was completely ruined by three sharp knocks coming from the door. Two pairs of narrowed eyes immediately bored into it with irate glares of equal strength. Thraknash growled, and Anguelen gritted his teeth together so hard it was difficult for him to grind out his next words.

"Who the fuck might that be," he managed to say. "Tauremardë would never be cruel enough to barge in on us like this..."

He got his answer as the next series of knocks was accompanied by a rather irritating voice. "Come on, Anguelen, you deviant pervert! I know you're not sleeping, there's light coming out from under the door!"

"Oh, so he thought to surprise us by arriving in the middle of the night. Just a minute." Anguelen got up and headed for the voice, stopping only to pick up his grandfather's sword. He threw the door open and disappeared into the dark corridor. There was a very short conversation that Thraknash couldn't quite make out, and a high-pitched scream that he had no trouble with. Soon Anguelen came back to find Thraknash nearly undressed.

"So that was your brother?" he asked, dropping his belt to the floor. "Where did you leave your sword?"

"I used it to pin him to the wall. Let's hope he has the common sense to keep quiet for the rest of the night."

They wasted no more time talking after that. Apparently, Anguelen's brother _was_ smart enough to shut up as they were not disturbed again that night.

* * *

Keep My Grave Open is a song title I nicked from the heavy metal band Sentenced, and it's also the name of a horror movie from 1976.


	11. Brotherly Love

Legolas dreamed. The forest was strange to him, nothing like the one in which he had grown up as a youth, and feverish visions not unlike nightmares came to him. Visions of the Sea, of leaving these beloved lands for the unknown shore that now called to him. He dreamed of drowning, of falling, of awaking. He stared at the ceiling in the dark. In the house of a stranger. Cradled still by the remnants of the dream.

Legolas stood up. The window-sill felt cool against his skin as he leaned on it, and it became cold as he opened the window to let the night air in. So quiet, so dark; no movement could be perceived outside save the wind moving amidst the trees like an assassin in the night. On its edge it carried a low voice, a chant:

_Afar, t__he stars that were to guide us_  
_How long will that lie persist  
Ah, that I should miss their light  
And the coldness that none can resist  
Still  
Enthralled, immobile beneath their gaze  
__The monsters of firmament, filling me with dread_

Legolas gasped. The poem was _terrible_. But the voice became lower still, somehow binding him with an unholy power.

_I loathe you, I worship you_  
_You __hallowed demons overhead..._

"May I just ask you what in the great name of Morgoth Bauglir do you think you're doing?" enquired an all too familiar voice that seemed to come from the window on the right. The spell was broken; Legolas blinked rapidly and noticed he had been gripping the sill so hard his knuckles had turned bone white.

"Composing," Burzum said with his normal voice. "I just came up with these new lyrics..."

"I see," Thraknash grunted. "Have you forgotten what I told you about poetry and things like that?"

It took Burzum a while to remember, so drunk was he with the moonlight. "Uh... that they bent your mind and left it to die?"

"Exactly. And that's why I don't want you reciting that load of bollocks right under our window. Go to sleep or at least keep your bloody mouth shut."

Legolas could hear Burzum mutter something about philistines before disappearing in the woods again. He sighed rather petulantly, closed the window and went back to bed.

* * *

When Anguelen finally got up and decided it would be nice to get some breakfast, it was already light outside. He nudged Thraknash awake and started getting dressed, noticing that his new clothes still felt weird and would probably continue to do so for the next five years or so. He really hated getting something new to wear.

"Where's he gone?" asked Thraknash when they were on their way to the dining room and noticed that Anguelen's brother was mysteriously no longer pinned to the wall, but the sword was still where he had left it. "There's not even any blood..."

"His hair probably soaked it all up, that bloody snob," Anguelen muttered, yanking the sword out of the wall and putting it back in its sheath. Possible as it seemed, that presumption proved to be false as they reached the dining room and noticed that the new Elf sitting at the table looked as though he had spent the last twelve hours grooming himself rather than recovering from a grievous injury.

"Anguelen," he said with a curt nod.

"Eldehto," Anguelen snarled. And about two seconds later, couldn't help adding: "You fuckwit."

"Why would you say that?" the other youth asked, seeming genuinely surprised. Anguelen stalked to the table, never once taking his eyes off his brother. He put his hands on the table and leaned over it.

"Don't give me that, you leaking pustule. You knew very well I wasn't alone in my room, otherwise you wouldn't have come knocking on the door like some sort of high priest of chastity. 'Deviant pervert' indeed. I should've aimed the sword a little more to the right – and how come there's nothing wrong with your shoulder?"

"Well, I guess I'm just made of sterner stuff than you think," Eldehto said, smirking.

"In other words, you were just wearing your shoulder pads again to look less scrawny and I punctured one of them."

Eldehto touched his rather deflated-looking shoulder, looking offended. Then he noticed Thraknash. The Uruk's already low opinion of his lover's brother certainly didn't improve when said brother managed to look at him down his nose even sitting down and blurted out something that made absolutely no sense to Thraknash.

"Could I get that in Westron?"

"Why? Can you not understand the High Speech, animal?" Anguelen twitched, but had no time to react more violently as Thraknash strode forward and lifted Eldehto from his chair with one hand.

"No. I'm afraid I've never had the chance to learn any of your highbrow languages, and I can't seem to recall them by thinking of the time when we were still Elves or any shit like that. So why don't you just translate for me?"

"Yeah, why don't you," Anguelen echoed. "That was such an interesting comparison you made between him and malformed, inbred dogs, after all."

Things were about to get really ugly just as Tauremardë arrived, combing her hair and trying to grope Dûmrakh at the same time. She separated the three to prevent bloodshed and slapped the brothers for good measure. Anguelen thought it was an unfair thing to do but shut up because of Tauremardë, and Eldehto thought the whole situation was unbearable but shut up when the Moria-Orcs, Gruzlak and Krazum came from their respective rooms and Orcs clearly outnumbered Elves. Not even the arrival of Gimli and Legolas could make him stop shivering in paranoid terror. Since Eldehto's arrival had been announced earlier, no one asked questions about him. However, everybody sensed the strained atmosphere and the frozen silence between him and Anguelen; suffice it to say that the breakfast got off to a pretty bad start as the bad mood spread like wildfire amongst the group.

Just as Krazum was about to tell Grishtakh to stop piling cheese and liver slabs on his slice of bread, someone could be heard making a lot of noise at the door, then dragging himself down the corridor. And sure enough, Burzum soon stumbled into the room looking like death - which, to be fair, had probably been his intention all along. His leather coat looked to have suffered a little and his eyes were glazed over.

"Hey, is it true you were serenading the Elf last night, you stallion of Udûn?" Gutbrúg asked jovially. Apparently, Thraknash and Legolas were not the only ones who had been awakened by Burzum's bout of creativeness.

"Mhhhg," Burzum said. His eyes, unblinking like those of a snake, rolled in his head. He recovered fairly quickly and staggered to the chair right next to Eldehto. The Elf looked at him with wild horror, which was only made worse by the Sauron's Eye pendant the morbid Orc was wearing. Burzum blinked first with his left eye, then with his right one. "I can smell your sweet blood right through your skin," he slurred, probably at Eldehto; no one could be sure as he wasn't focusing his gaze on anything or anyone and he soon after that pitched forward, head hitting the table. He was asleep.

"That's what you get when you stay up all night and day," Grishtakh said precociously. To further demonstrate his support for the healthy way of life, he stuffed his mouth full of the sandwich which had by now evolved into a cheese-liver-goat steak-onion monstrosity. Afraid that he might not get any, Sharrásh quite nonchalantly snatched some liver from Grishtakh. Since everybody seemed a bit more loosened up, Anguelen thought it was as good a time as any to ruin the more relaxed atmosphere by continuing the quarrel with his brother.

"I'm just saying that I fucking hate it when you try to tell me what I am and am not supposed to do. Do you think I'll stop fancying Orcs if only you piss me off enough?"

"I simply wish to show you the right way, you know. Surely you can't be happy that this abomination..."

"I _am_ happy, and happier would I be if you hadn't shown up, you great cracked crotch inflammation!"

Eldehto turned slightly pink. "You always keep implying there's something wrong with my – my privates! At least _I _keep them pure for the purposes of marriage!"

"And considering how unlikely you are to marry, that's probably all you'll ever do with them," Anguelen jeered. "Would you like me to remind you of the fact that while you stick to your ridiculous ideals and generally act frighteningly much like Father, I'm the one who actually ever gets laid?"

"You do it with all the wrong people!"

"Oh, cry me a new tributary of Anduin. Even the dead would reject you."

"Why... you..." Eldehto sputtered, shaking and turning purple. "Well I wouldn't be surprised if you accepted the advances of a corpse soldier or a long-forgotten wraith! Then your body would be left unsatisfied, and I would laugh at you for at least a whole Age!"

Tauremardë, by this point, looked quite pained. "Please... this shameless immaturity is making me queasy. Start behaving yourselves or I must kill you." Since she really seemed tired to the point that she couldn't come up with anything snappier, the younger Elves thought it wise to stop irritating her. In fact, everybody took care to finish his breakfast with all the haste he could muster up and leave just as quickly.

After breakfast, Krazum unfortunately wished to talk to Thraknash about something. He looked rather irritated, and so soon after enduring his brother Anguelen decided to go back to his room instead of staying and listening. He was just about to close the door when Eldehto appeared out of nowhere and squeezed himself in through the opening.

"We need to talk, too," he said with an air of self-importance so advanced that Anguelen had rarely seen its like on him. "One of the reasons Daddy sent me to check on Tauremardë..."

"Oooh, let me guess," Anguelen interrupted. "I can see you there...'_Please, Daddy, I wanna go to the forest all alone! I'm old enough and if there's trouble, I'll just blow this whistle you gave me and the Valar themselves will come down from the sky and save my helpless arse!'_ Is that how it went?"

"You'd better start taking me seriously! Daddy had a better reason than that! In fact, he wanted me to bring you back after making sure Tauremardë is not causing any trouble."

This time it was Eldehto's turn to get looked at like he was a piece of something no one wants to step in. "Why in the name of the Dark Lord would he send _you_ to fetch me? We don't even like each other."

"That's... umm... not true. I do like you," Eldehto managed to say.

"Last time we met, you said '_I wish you were dead, you ugly pig-nosed git!'_ Those were your exact words."

"I was only kidding! You know I would never say things like that seriously!"

"You also said that I look like a maiden and that I should start wearing a dress and wed someone with more between his legs than just a codpiece."

Eldehto was beginning to despair. He slapped his hands onto his brother's shoulders and looked at him in what he hoped to be a convincing manner. "I... the real reason I really want you to come back is that... I... I love you!"

Anguelen rolled his eyes. "You don't even believe that yourself. I know your precious daddy will be terribly disappointed in you if you return without me, but..."

"No, really! I love you, brother!" Eldehto then slapped his lips onto the general direction of his brother's face as pointlessly as only someone with absolutely no experience in kissing and little desire to improve his skill can do. Anguelen immediately pushed him away.

"First off, the fact that you call me 'brother' while declaring your love to me is quite chilling to me... do you perhaps think I'm completely without mores? Besides, I do have standards even if I were – let's not forget the fact that you're a completely obnoxious bastard, an unattractive, selfish twit with no redeeming qualities at all."

"But you're all those things, too," Eldehto grumbled. His brilliant plan was going straight to Utumno after all.

"Have you ever heard me deny it?" When he met no resistance, Anguelen turned around to leave the room. He had had enough and didn't feel like talking to the imbecile anymore.

He managed to take one step before said imbecile knocked him to the floor and sat down on his back. "I... you can't talk to me that way, you must like me... and then we'll go back to Daddy. Yes... and then Daddy will tell me how well I did and you won't make fun of me anymore because you like me..."

"You fucking little..." Anguelen snarled and was just about to elbow his brother in the face when his weight was lifted off him. It was Thraknash, already looking furious after his discussion with Krazum. "_Great_ timing, Thraknash. Hold him still."

The Uruk did so, barely suppressing the urge to crush the Elf's bones while he was at it. Anguelen arose like a spirit of vengeance. "Pathetic little shit. Always kissing Father's arse... well, we can't let this opportunity slide. You started it, so I think it's perfectly justified that I adjust your face a little." Anguelen cracked his knuckles menacingly. And as fate would have it, Tauremardë barged into the room right at that moment.

"That won't do at all, cousin dear," she said. "I just had a little chat with Krazum and I think it's time we held a council of our own."

Whatever she meant by that, it was more than likely to involve some kind of unpleasantness, possibly even in the form of Anguelen having to make an effort and actually do something. Looking disappointed and more than a little worried, Anguelen followed her. Thraknash dropped the younger Elf and followed Anguelen in turn; once Eldehto had recovered from the fall, he completed the train formation by staggering after them as well.


	12. A Great Day for Great Ideas

Most of the seats were already taken as Anguelen, Thraknash and Eldehto lumbered gracefully into the small room. Tauremardë looked terribly important on her kitchen chair, much like some sort of rustic queen on her throne. As soon as the last ones to arrive had taken a seat, as well as stopped snickering at Tauremardë's lofty expression, she cleared her throat and spoke.

"Don't forget to take a plate. Togo has prepared us... yet... another wholesome meal." The Hobbit stood up and went from guest to guest to fill their plates with a soup-like substance. Once he was done making sure that everyone had enough food, he left the room to go back to his beloved kitchen.

"But... but we just ate," Anguelen said incredulously, staring at his plate.

"Well, that damned Hobbit cooks approximately fifty times a day, you know. Until we can wean him of that unfortunate habit, we just have to eat everything he cooks before it spoils," Tauremardë said a bit impatiently. Some of the Orcs had no trouble gobbling up everything that was put in front of them, but most guests just swirled their spoons in the dark liquid, taking just a careful sip every now and then for fear of their stomachs bursting. "Jolly good. Now, let's get to…"

"Aaaahh! There's a hair in my gruel! A really long hair!" Grishtakh squeaked. Since he was sitting so close to Tauremardë, all she had to do was bend down a little to take a closer look.

"Oh, that's one of mine. The blasted things are everywhere." She picked it up. It seemed to go on forever, rising from the depths of the gruel like the thinnest sea serpent in the world. "But enough of the ways of the Eldar for now. Krazum, I do believe you wanted to tell us something?"

The Mordor-Orc stood up, a disturbing officious glint looking out of his eyes. "That's quite right. As I already told you, I've been giving Chief Gorluk's choice of going back to the east a lot of thought. The mountains here are mostly bare and do not provide us with enough food and shelter; the Elves who wish us death are everywhere, and when they finally leave, the Men will take their places. I have therefore come to the conclusion that in order to…"

"We're not going to Mordor, if that's what you're trying to say," Thraknash interrupted. Krazum's eyes narrowed.

"That's just what one would expect to hear from Saruman's henchman," he snarled slowly. "Tell me one good reason why we shouldn't go back there."

"First of all, I was one of Sauron's Uruk-hai, do try to remember that. And as for why going to Mordor is a bloody stupid idea, I think it's obvious. Sauron was defeated and the land ruined, which is why Mordor is quite defenceless and hardly habitable these days... don't you think?"

As could be expected, Krazum did not react too well to the voice of reason. "You're just a cowardly bastard! Besides, the Dark Lord never permitted us to call him by that name, you faithless swine!"

"What's he going to do about it now? Haunt me?"

Krazum's usually dull red eyes flashed bright crimson for a fleeting second. He gnashed his teeth together, irrational murder fury arising within. "Fuck you."

"Don't give me ideas." The moment that escaped his mouth, Thraknash's eyes widened a bit with surprise at his own words. It at least had the beneficial side effect of making Krazum forget his anger immediately.

"See what you've done to him, Elf?" he asked Anguelen ruefully. The Elf in question just grinned happily and snuggled closer to Thraknash. Eldehto jumped out of his chair, mostly because his brother's behaviour disgusted him, but also because he saw that his chance to exert some power over Tauremardë had arrived.

"That is exactly the kind of activity Da… I mean Father told me to report! You are allowing these foul creatures to return to the pit of evil whence they came without considering the danger that comes with such a reckless decision! Why, they could build an army in the darkness of the Black Land and att…"

Tauremardë jumped up herself, almost knocking Grishtakh's plate out of his hand in the process. Her mouth was a bloodless, pale line on her lovely face, her lips parting to bare suddenly cruel-looking teeth. Eldehto backed off in fright, almost tripping over his chair.

"And if they do, perhaps nothing of value will be lost if this is all the great Council can think of these days. I warn you, Eldehto... what pitiful weapons you may wield, they will not protect you should you get on my nerves ever again. I have a voice that has disintegrated greater brains than the resident lump inside your skull, and I am not afraid to use it." The younger Elf sat down, shivering like a rabbit that was about to be skinned alive and knew it. The sudden wrath in Tauremardë's eyes subsided. "So... you're saying that returning to Mordor would be dangerous and perhaps even pointless. However, it is true that you cannot remain here forever. Does anyone have any better ideas?"

More than one Orc scratched his head thoughtfully. The former inhabitants of Moria would have been happy to go back to the mines, and that's what they told Tauremardë. Gimli muttered something very rude about Orcs ruining what was left of the great kingdom, but Legolas frowned quizzically.

"But surely you must know that much of the old kingdom was destroyed in the battle which claimed the life of the Balrog and almost that of... his slayer as well?" he asked. Ghâshsag suddenly dropped his plate.

"Come on, we've lived in worse places..." Gutbrúg tried to console him, as if fearing a worse reaction would come in a moment. Ignoring that, Ghâshsag slowly stood up and faced Legolas.

"What did you say about the Balrog?" he asked with a strained voice. "Did you say he's dead?"

"Oh, look! You dropped your plate! Would you like some of my gruel, Ghâshsag?" Grishtakh offered desperately. Legolas nodded warily at Ghâshsag to answer his question. His eyes glowed for a moment and the prince almost unconsciously put his hand on the hilt of his short sword in anticipation of an attack.

"But... but why would anyone want to kill Bert? He was... he was my friend... he was..." Whatever 'Bert' was, Ghâshsag could not say it, for he suddenly burst into tears. He sank to his knees and covered his face, overcome with grief. Burzum sighed and shook his head.

"Do you remember how we used to fear his shadow even in the darkest of places? How his whip of fire hung over our heads, ready to strike? I miss those times."

"You don't un-un-understand! He n-never hurt me, ever," Ghâshsag sobbed. "Oh, I k-knew we shouldn't have left Moria. It's all my fault he's de... dea... gone forever!"

He lay on the floor in a trembling heap, not caring about the awkward looks he was getting. Krazum sat with his arms crossed, trying to smile reassuringly at Gruzlak, who seemed quite a bit upset about Ghâshsag's behaviour. Legolas squirmed in his chair, not quite sure how he should feel about the whole thing. When it became apparent that Ghâshsag would not stop bawling if nothing was done about it, Gutbrúg made another attempt at easing his pain.

"You know, we _told_ you it wouldn't be wise to get too attached to him..." No effect. "Umm... how would you like a frog or something? I could catch one... of course, they can't withstand much heat, but at least you'd have another... friend..?"

"Nooooo," Ghâshsag wailed. At this point, Tauremardë got tired of such unprofessional ways of consoling. She sat on the floor and pulled the shivering Orc to her lap, rocking him like a small child.

"There, there. Sometimes things like this happen and we can't help it. It wasn't your fault..." she murmured softly, stroking his dirty hair. After a while he stopped sobbing and hiccuped. Tauremardë looked up at her audience. "Well, since Moria seems to be out of the question, I expect someone has thought of another place to go?"

Gruzlak shifted in his chair. "Well... I thought we could build a new land where Orcs could fight each other in peace without having to fight enemies as well, but I suppose it wouldn't be very easy to do..."

"But that's ingenious!" Krazum exclaimed, jumping with excitement. "Of course, what we need is a city… a _citadel_ for all the creatures of darkness to happily fester in, and what better place to model it after than... well, should it be the ancient witch-kingdom of Angmar? Or the old strongholds of the Dark Lord? In any case, I'm so very proud of you, little one," he praised. Gruzlak grinned.

"So, another dark castle it is," Tauremardë said, accepting no objections. "Of course, you'll probably have to travel somewhere near Mordor to find a place to build it as Men swarm the lands west of the Misty Mountains. Now, let's see... there aren't that many of you... nine altogether?"

At that point, Legolas and Gimli stood up, mouths agape. "...Nine? Nine who would go to Mordor?" There was something about the concept that seemed to upset them greatly.

"Yes, I think it's not very much, don't you? Eldehto, you'd better join them." While Eldehto turned pale with shock, Gimli and Legolas sat down again, satisfied that at least it would not be a companionship of nine walkers travelling to the Black Land.

Anguelen made a scathing remark about the usefulness of his brother on such a journey, but seemed excited about the prospect of finally seeing the outside world – and most importantly, the native land of Thraknash.

"What do you think, could we go see Mount Doom together?"

"Possibly. I've heard Mordor looks like shit these days, but there should be something left of the mountain. Hey, and while we're at it, we might be able to visit Udûn! I was bred there, you know," Thraknash told him.

Tauremardë dismissed the gathering, satisfied that the council had gone so well. The Moria-Orcs scampered off in search of something to amuse themselves with and noticed that Legolas and Gimli didn't take too well to their constant jesting – which, of course, made them perfect targets for the goblins' endless barrage of bad jokes and relentlessly foolish remarks. Ghâshsag also kept following Legolas around, asking in a melancholy tone if he thought it would be possible for him to go leave something on Bert's grave.

Anguelen yawned as he walked with Thraknash to their room. He still looked happy and excited - for once in a non-carnal way, so of course that had to be ruined. Thraknash got the strangest feeling in his stomach; an odd, nonsensical tickle that rose from there and made his head feel light. Naturally, his first thought was that there was something wrong with his circulation (he was not at all prone to light-headedness), but that theory was discarded as he suddenly started to feel very warm in a way that had something to do with lust but more to do with something else entirely. He noticed Anguelen watching him with a sly smile and realised that the Elf had probably just said something to him; Thraknash thought of asking him a bit later what it was, but forgot it immediately as he pulled Anguelen down the couple of inches the Elf had on him for a decidedly unorkish and tabooishly pleasant kiss. Anguelen's arms went round his waist and even though they weren't doing anything exhausting, their hearts kept beating harder and harder...

"Oi. Believe it not, but that mad Hobbit has baked something for a change." Gutbrúg sure had chosen a bad moment to show up. "Are you coming to eat some food or will you just continue cannibalising each other's faces?"

"Such a romantic you are," Anguelen panted. His eyes were warm and he was blushing a little and Thraknash really wanted Gutbrúg to piss off.

"Oh yes. I mean, I can practically see little hearts, arteries and all, flying around your heads. If you ever get married, can I be the... heh heh... _ringbearer_?" The reference to a certain Mr Baggins, as well as the baffling fact that some Moria brat would know of him, was lost on Thraknash. He did, however, put his previous thought to words.

"Piss off."

"Now that I think about it, I should probably go get Burzum to take a look at this so he can write another mushy poem about the forces of good and evil intertwining…"

"Get the fuck out or I'll rip out your spine and flog you to death with it!" His work done, Gutbrúg fled gleefully down the corridor. Thraknash sighed exasperatedly, knowing well that the goblin was on his way to tell everybody else that the only Uruk in their little group had turned into a big softie. But at least some things about him had remained hard, as Anguelen suddenly reminded him.

"You have such an exciting voice when you threaten people," he whispered, pressing himself tighter against Thraknash. After a while the Uruk had completely forgotten that he was about to get mercilessly taunted by everybody in the house.


	13. Ready to Rumble

Holy shit, how hard can it be to update the chapter summary **before** I upload the new chapter? Shouldn't be hard at all, and here I forget it almost every time.

* * *

"...and then there was that man from Dunland called Bêrt who used to sell us some wicked booze back in Moria. Ghâshsag heard his name once and next month he blew up with his still! We tried to get Ghâshsag exorcised after that, but the shaman told us to go play out in the sunshine and come back when we had real problems. She shouldn't have said that because a Troll we knew told us he had a friend called Bert, and it turned out he got turned to stone in some forest. That was before we were born, but since Ghâshsag heard about it later, that's got to have something to do with it," Grishtakh related, waving a piece of bread at Legolas and Gimli as words fell from his mouth unchecked. "And back in the war he was about to be chopped to pieces by this rider of Rohan, but Ghâshsag heard someone call his name and it was Beorht..."

"These are all coincidences," Legolas groaned, offering a silent prayer to Elbereth for strength to withstand this force of evil. "This... Troll in particular could not have died in such a way because a goblin would one day in the far future hear his..."

"Well all right, that was a little farfetched," admitted Grishtakh. "But I didn't tell you what happened to Beorht!"

"Well what happened to Beorht," Gimli asked, his forehead starting to turn red from rubbing.

"His horse fell, just like that, and crushed his ribcage."

Gimli and Legolas glanced at each other, sharing a moment of intense pain between friends. "Coincidences," Legolas repeated.

Grishtakh paid that no mind and, satisfied that his mouth was finally empty of words, sank his teeth happily into the pie Togo had insisted he should try. The Hobbit had filled it to the overworked brim with berries and fruit and possibly raw sugar, and the result was more shocking than culinary. Grishtakh loved it.

After having to starve in the mountains for two years, no amount of food seemed to be enough for the Orcs. Indeed, their great appetite gave Togo another excuse to keep cooking like there was no tomorrow, and although Tauremardë had made it clear that he was not to continue doing so after the guests finally left, he was in a great mood. "Would the Masters like some pastry Togo has made? No ingredient from the pantry has been left out."

He was addressing Anguelen and Thraknash who were coming from their room, looking slightly dishevelled and vaguely vapid. "Bring it on, I'm strong," Anguelen managed to say, in no other way capable of acknowledging the Hobbit's existence. Krazum snorted.

"Don't they look smart together, Gruzlak? Just don't look too closely or your eyes will be smarting next, what with the sparks of intelligence flying from their general direction," he mocked. When he was not interrupted by Thraknash trying to assert his Uruk's honour by displays of physical strength, Krazum went on. "I can just imagine the brilliant discussions they have. '_O Thraknash, I adore thee! Let us forthwith make sweet love or whatever the fuck it is we Elves do! Why, I love you too, my radiant star out of the firmament!'_ "

Thraknash didn't even twitch. Krazum got up and walked to the Uruk, bending down a little to take a good look at him. "You're not functioning anymore, man. This isn't funny, you know." Thraknash quite suddenly grabbed him by the belt partly covered by his leather armour and pulled him even closer.

"A bit like your jokes, then. And don't you worry about my intelligence, Krazum..." The crazed glimmer in Thraknash's eyes told Krazum that he should probably just return to his seat, preferably without any clever comments. He yanked himself free, trying to look nonchalant, and retreated.

Meanwhile, Eldehto was trying to intimidate Gutbrúg into giving up his chair so he could sit next to his brother. While that plan quite understandably failed, Gutbrúg turned out to be easy to bribe. Soon the nervous Elf claimed the seat next to Anguelen.

"Anguelen. Brother," he tried. Anguelen mumbled something in response. "You're not going to tell Daddy what I said? Because I didn't mean it, you know."

"Give it a rest. You're such a lousy liar I can't even tell which one of your lies is the closest to the truth."

"No, I... even if I _did_ like you that way, which I don't because liking relatives that way is not the Elven thing to do, I..."

Anguelen rolled his eyes, then closed them. "Nothing would make it any less unfortunate. We _are_ related by blood, like you say."

Eldehto looked away. He suddenly felt a nagging need to run all the way back home without ever looking back. "You don't even feel like a real brother. More like... someone who just lives in the same house with us."

Anguelen opened his eyes again. "What?"

Eldehto didn't respond. He was turning an upset shade of red again, and the look on his face suggested that trying to get him to talk would just make him defend his dignity by spouting the usual highbrow nonsense the Elves of the land were so fond of. As the silence between the brothers continued, Gutbrúg and Sharrásh (who had been listening in on their conversation in hopes of hearing something amusing) slowly returned to eating their own pastries.

The muffled whimpering of Ruzsnak and Nargoth alerted the others to Dûmrakh's presence. The twins seemingly had teeth of iron and jaw power to match, but he prised them off his arms with experience honed by years of taking care of his children alone. With scarcely a grimace of pain, he carefully dropped the tiny brats on the floor.

"Well, my good guests, I have to ask you to look after our babies while Tauremardë and I go pilfering. I hope it won't be terribly inconvenient."

"Uhh... it'll be all right, I suppose," Krazum said.

Dûmrakh thanked him profusely and left before Nargoth could sink his teeth into one of his father's heavily armoured limbs again. The children looked after Dûmrakh desolately for a while. Then they turned to face Anguelen and the possibility that they would have to communicate with this stranger after all.

"Uh... hello, Uncle Anguelen," Ruzsnak muttered.

"Second cousin, actually."

"Uncle Anguelen, can we have some pie?" she asked, ignoring the correction.

"Can't think of a reason not to. Take a seat." The children hopped onto an empty chair and continued from there onto the table. Anguelen tolerated it for a moment, but had to intervene when they started trying to loot others' food. "Back to the chair now, you two."

"Shan't," Nargoth quipped, voice full of defiance. In an astonishingly accurate imitation of his cousin, Anguelen looked at the child calmly and yet intimidatingly.

"My mother always used to say the same thing when I climbed on furniture," he drawled. "She told me that uncooked meat has no business on the dinner table."

Thraknash was on the verge of adding that he really had nothing against eating raw meat, but the smart little boy already looked as though he had got the gist of Anguelen's anecdote. He silently got back on the chair; Ruzsnak soon did the same. Nargoth even returned Ghâshsag's slice of rat pie when he asked for it.

"What are we supposed to do to entertain you, anyway?" Krazum enquired suspiciously. Ruzsnak's eyes widened until they resembled saucers and she nearly began to hyperventilate.

"Oooohh! Let's play Orcs versus Trolls! It's _brilliant_!" she gushed, flailing her little arms like weapons. Nargoth nodded vigorously.

"Are you sure you wouldn't just like to go to sleep? I don't want to deal with this shit," Thraknash said. He was liking the concept of Orc-children less and less.

"No, we want to play Orcs versus Trolls right now! Wait here, Nargoth, I'll go get our cudgels!" The boy bounced on the chair excitedly, waiting for his sister to return.

"You don't really need _us_ to play, do you?" Anguelen asked, full of hope that the children wouldn't want to play with him, seeing that they were both more Orcs at heart than Elves and didn't seem too comfortable around him in any case. "_I guess I wouldn't get along with a couple of kids, either,"_ he thought. And, of course, there was also the selfish wish to be alone with Thraknash.

"No, not really. But I'd really like _him_ to play with us!" Nargoth exclaimed, pointing at the still somewhat pained Gimli, who seemed astonished that someone would wish to attack him physically rather than verbally.

"Well then, you little rascal. I think I'd better show you how to use that cudgel," he said happily. Nargoth went beside himself with joy at this display of avuncularity.

"Yes! Let's go outside!" Dragging the other Orcs with him more or less forcibly, Nargoth made his way out of the dining room. Legolas took one look at the remaining people at the table and thought he'd rather be outside with his friend than witness Thraknash and Anguelen do anything that went beyond talking when talking alone was so unbearable. Eldehto stopped his continuous sulking to come to the same conclusion and scrambled out as well.

Which, of course, suited Anguelen's plans perfectly. "Well, Thraknash. You know what they say... when the cat's away, the mice dance on the table."

"We're not actually going to go at it on the table, are we?"

They glanced at the table, thinking of Togo's apparent food fetish and the general hygiene level of the dining room. "Absolutely not," said Anguelen.

* * *

Less than an hour later, Krazum limped back into the house, supported by Gruzlak. "Damn, I didn't know anyone that small could hit so fucking hard," he griped. "Gruzlak, please... try not to grip my side that hard. I think I've got a bruise bigger than my goddamned head."

"Oh, sorry."

The door was opened again; this time everybody else came in, some of them limping like Krazum and some of them smirking at the ones whose limping they had directly caused. The lone exceptions to all this were Legolas and Eldehto who had been allowed to stay out of the game on account of being 'wispy Elves who might get seriously hurt'. Although they normally wouldn't have taken so lightly to such foul slander, the 'Orcs versus Trolls' game was something they both were glad to stay out of.

"That was so fun! I wish we could have used real iron and wood cudgels!" gushed Gutbrúg the vandal, having regressed in years to the level of the Orc-Elf children.

"Yes, the ones Mum made of leather and soft stuffing are kind of wimpy," Ruzsnak agreed in her usual animated way. "But I don't think she would have been glad if I would have broken someone's bones!"

Meanwhile, Krazum approached one of the Elves. "Hey, you. Eldehto. Go ask your brother if he thinks we could possibly leave this place tomorrow."

"But why would we…"

"Just do it, for almighty fuck's sake! Shit, I don't think I've been in this much pain since the bloody war when that Horse-Man..." he whimpered, stopping suddenly when he got to the part about war. He paled a little. "Don't make me ask twice, Elf! I just want to know when we are going to leave!"

Eldehto turned and exited the room quickly, leaving Krazum alone with Gruzlak. The older Orc sighed.

"I need to make something to heal the bruise quickly. Go get my bag?" Nodding eagerly, Gruzlak scooted off. Being fairly quick on his feet, he soon returned with the medicine bag. At about the same time, Eldehto came back from doing his little enquiry.

"Well... Anguelen sounded really angry and told me to ask again tomorrow." The Elf sounded slightly confused.

"Oh _great_. Why weren't you more insistent?"

"He gets a bit scary when I do that," Eldehto admitted. "Not that I'm afraid of him or anything, but…"

"Yes, fine, I get it." Krazum sighed again, rummaging around for the herbs he needed. "Might as well make something to knock me out so I can sleep until morning."


	14. Let the Quest Begin Already

Yet another morning dawned, shedding its glorious light upon all of Arda without a shred of care for whether it was actually appreciated or not. Burzum certainly wasn't happy about it as direct sunlight somehow waltzed in through a gap in the curtains and forced itself through his lids into his poor, sensitive eyes. He waved his arm in front of his face stupidly before fully waking up and realising that the bloody nuisance couldn't be driven away.

Gutbrúg snickered like a cave-troll in the dark corner he had chosen for himself before Burzum had had the chance to claim it. "Good morning, sunshine," he giggled. "Are the beams being mean to you again?"

"Shut up, you Sauron-damned fool," Burzum muttered, not bothering to arrange his words so as to make them sound more poetic or archaic. It was terribly time-consuming and besides, Gutbrúg was the least likely Orc to tease him if he occasionally slipped out of character. Not that it stopped the bastard from teasing him for everything else, mind.

And thus it came to pass that Gutbrúg found himself muffled by the pillow Burzum threw at his face just in case calling him a fool wouldn't be enough to silence him. He was amused enough to retaliate in similar fashion, but decided against it as Grishtakh stirred on his own mattress. No matter how humorous a person Burzum may have been deep down, his sense of humour, like some small and shy yet pompous animal, mysteriously vanished every time it was in danger of being discovered.

"Huh? Is it morning already?" Grishtakh blinked like an owl, trying to squirm out from under the covers. Being the kind of person to get tangled up in everything, it took him a few minutes and quite a few curses to do just that. Meanwhile, he succeeded without even trying in waking up the two Orcs who still would have liked to continue sleeping.

"I can't find my bleeding greaves anywhere," Ghâshsag began to gripe as soon as he was awake enough to think aloud. "Have you taken them, Gutbrúg?"

"What would I do that for? My boots are designed to shield my shins without having to attach any inconvenient plates of armour to them, Mister Wears-His-Armour-In-Bits-And-Pieces."

"Then who has them?"

Sharrásh shifted under his blanket. He tossed some metal and leather junk on the floor. Ghâshsag picked out his greaves, shoulder guards and dagger from the pile. "Incidentally, why did you have these in your bed?"

"Grunt," Sharrásh said instead of simply grunting. "I need something cool to help me sleep. It's steaming hot under this blanket. If you don't believe me, you can join me here and see for yourself."

Since Ghâshsag was so impressed that he had just heard Sharrásh churn out three whole sentences, he chose to ignore the fact that the older Orc had implied the heat could be 'seen' under such circumstances. As far as Ghâshsag knew, heat became visible around fire and other things that burned, and even then it was only a faint echo of what could be _felt_; indeed, to him it was nothing but air forced to dance by the intense torridity, outmatched by the more terrifying and conjuring dance of the flames...

"Are you coming or not?"

"Not now," Ghâshsag mumbled. He began the annoying process of fastening the pieces of armour to his clothes. He could have just left them on the floor, but the habit of wearing them was one he was not prepared to abandon; not even in the time of peace, not even in this house.

Tightening the straps of his long gloves over the sleeves of his tattered, ripped coat, Gutbrúg left without a word. The chains on his shoulder guards clinked merrily against metal studs as he walked down the corridor. He was in a great mood.

"Took you long enough to wake up," said the rumbling voice of Thraknash quite suddenly behind him. "Are the rest of the brats awake as well, or shall I go and help them get up?"

"Be patient, I'm sure they'll get out of that room before it gets dark again!"

Thraknash blinked. "Whatever you say. However, if you want me to understand what you're saying, you should try speaking Westron or Black Speech."

Realising that he was still using the Moria dialect, Gutbrúg repeated his answer in the Common Speech and made sure that he sounded twice as cheeky while doing so. Thraknash looked very dangerous for a moment. Just as Gutbrúg thought he was going to get decapitated, the Uruk grunted and told him to go get the rest of the Moria-Orcs and come outside as his lover's cousin had something important to say.

"I bet she just wants us to help with the loot," Gutbrúg muttered, but obeyed anyway. Not because he was very obsequious, but because he was actually a bit curious as to what was going to happen next. Besides, arguing with Thraknash could easily become the rough equivalent of hitting one's head against a brick wall: absolutely useless, unless it was brain damage one was looking for.

* * *

"Be careful with that sack, Anguelen," Tauremardë told her cousin. "I put the eggs on top, and I shall be very pissed off if you smash them."

"How come you two managed to get all this stuff all the way here without help, but can't carry the sacks to the kitchen from the front door?"

"Don't be flippant, you ingrate. I'd smack you if my hands weren't full of chickens."

Wondering if he was gifted with the ability to see into the future, Gutbrúg dragged another sack of loot inside. His efforts were hindered by the bright and merciless light of the sun, the great sadist in the sky. At least there were others to share the workload with him. "So... what was the important thing you were supposed to tell us?"

"Wait for it..." Tauremardë panted, carrying a dead pig on her shoulders. She disappeared with it in the kitchen and could be heard slamming it on a solid, hard surface. Also, Togo could be heard squealing with joy. Tauremardë returned with a relieved look on her face. "Now, have you brought everything else inside?"

"Not yet," Ghâshsag whimpered. Even aided by Krazum, the weight of the sack he was carrying almost made him collapse on the floor. With the help of some extremely ugly curses, the two Orcs were able to take their burden to the kitchen where Togo took it from them. "...right... now we're ready..."

"Excellent. First off, allow me to thank you for your help," Tauremardë said, nodding at her exhausted guests. "I am very happy you decided to co-operate. It truly makes me sad that we have to say farewell so soon."

"What? Are you kicking us out already?" asked Grishtakh.

"Well, why do you think we brought so much extra food? Today we shall pack your bags full and prepare you for the long journey that awaits you."

Legolas and Gimli exchanged looks. Krazum smiled crookedly in anticipation of seeing his native land again. And it did not matter if some of the guests didn't like the idea of leaving so soon; the ones who were glad to embark on the quest happily began to choose what things to bring with them, thus forcing the choice on those who would have stayed. Soon they were all busy packing food and weapons and clobbering each other to determine who got the best stuff.


	15. Out of the House and into the World

Anguelen studied the blade of his new dagger with little interest. It was beautiful, that he was not going to deny, but it pissed him off that he was given all the shiny, pretty Elven weapons just because he was... well, a shiny, pretty Elf. He observed Krazum enviously as the Orc tested his new bow. Its string sang a harsh note as he let the arrow fly.

Besides, although he found it hard to say such things aloud, it was not easy for Anguelen to leave his cousin's house so soon after arriving despite the chance to see the world beyond the forest. There had once been a time when Tauremardë had been the only person with whom he could have casual conversations and, for once, be honest. She was more like a sister to him than a cousin.

"You lazy bastard, didn't I tell you to pack those apples twice already? I can't believe you're still twirling that ruddy knife in your unproductive hands."

A formidable, fearsome older sister, but a beloved sister in any case.

"I'll do it in a moment."

"That's what you said the two last times I told you to do it! I know you'd rather have your hands all over that Uruk warrior of yours, but there's work to be done! Put the dagger away and make yourself useful!"

"Yes, yes, yes..." Extremely slowly and petulantly, Anguelen put the dagger in its sheath and began to arrange the apples on the bottom of the backpack Tauremardë was handing him. Her mouth was so tightly shut that her lips lost almost all of their colour.

"Don't test my patience, child. I could still clobber you with my left hand tied."

"She could, you know," Dûmrakh stated casually. "Why, just last night she proved to me how good she is at using her right hand even though it's not the one she prefers to use. Ten years together, and she still manages to surprise me."

"Thanks for letting me know," Anguelen grumbled. At least hearing details about his cousin's sex life was not as bad as, say, finding out that his parents, all three of them, did such things. As far as Anguelen was concerned, he had been conceived entirely by means of bad poetry and coy glances.

* * *

Eldehto fidgeted at the door. He was not used to physical work or leaving his well-protected home. What he _was_ used to was getting everything his little heart desired; his father may have been very strict with Anguelen, but his next son he had spoiled rotten. Staring at the unpleasantly sharp sword he had managed to snatch for himself, he wondered if he could even use it in a real fight.

"If it bothers you that much, may I have it?" The mindless fear that overtook Eldehto as he turned around only to look straight into a pair of yellow eyes was so great that he could not even scream. "I had no luck in claiming a proper weapon..."

With silent horror in his eyes, Eldehto pushed the sword into Burzum's hand. It was not before the Orc's hand clasped the hilt that he realised he had just willingly given a deadly weapon to a hated enemy. Breathing in shallow gasps, he found himself unable to look Burzum in the eye, yet his glazed stare became fixed on the Sauron's Eye glinting on the dark red fabric that covered the beast's chest. It stared back at him, the Doom of this mortal world...

"Do you fear me?" There was dark satisfaction in the cursed creature's query, a curiously pleasant ring in the rasping voice.

"No," was all Eldehto managed to stay without stuttering. He was out of his damned mind with terror. Here he was, the son of an Elven king (self-appointed though he was), shaking like a helpless child in front of but _one _Orc...

"Oi! There's no time to socialise now! We're leaving soon."

For once, he was happy to hear his brother's voice. Burzum bared his teeth in what Eldehto hoped was not a smile and retreated. Tauremardë soon stepped out through the door with Dûmrakh carrying several backpacks, possibly in order to impress the Orcs with her great strength. (Dûmrakh, for his part, carried his children who in many ways were much more difficult to handle than backpacks.) She handed one to her cousin, one to Eldehto and one to Burzum.

"Well then, you rats," she said jovially. "The others are still inside doing whatever it is that they should have finished hours ago but didn't. At least you are ready... might as well let you have your farewell gifts right now."

"All right! Free stuff!" exclaimed Anguelen.

"Yes, quite. Just don't think I'll be this generous the next time we meet. Here, this is for you." Tauremardë gave Anguelen a clear phial full of translucent liquid, as well as a small scroll. "This is my best lube recipe, so you'd do well to memorise it before you inevitably lose it. And remember that you need only three drops for one go, otherwise you lose too much friction."

"This is the best gift I've ever received, Taurië!"

Her grip tightened on the small bag she was holding. "I thought I've told you never to call me that. Sylvan associations aside, it's also a fucking nickname and I can't stand those." Anguelen was still grinning at her mischievously when she turned to Burzum. "For you, dweller of darkness, I have stol... er, found a gift which will bring you hope even in the brightest of sunlight."

She held out a ring made of a metal black and marvellous as tainted mithril. Embedded in it was a small, flat stone which in closer inspection turned out to be a bone. Burzum accepted it with such joy that he could not even express his gratitude with words. Tauremardë looked at her bag and gave it to Anguelen.

"The rest of the gifts have nametags on them, so you can give them to their newly rightful owners. Since they can't be bothered to be here now, they can just figure out what their gifts do on their own."

"What shall I get?" asked Eldehto when Tauremardë showed no signs of lavishing him with the same generosity she had given to Anguelen and Burzum. She looked at him and sighed.

"Considering what your father has given you, it would be unfair to let you have anything else."

"What did Father give you?" Anguelen's voice suddenly had a very ominous edge to it.

"Just this," Eldehto said, fishing a small whistle out of his pocket.

Anguelen took it, squinting at the tiny Tengwar spelling out a short legend in Quenya. "'_Who is this who is coming?_'" He frowned. "What does it do?"

"When my distress is at its greatest, I will blow it to call on the power of the Star-Kindler herself. Daddy told me it has been a family heirloom for millennia."

Anguelen turned it slowly in his hand. There was disdain in his eyes so abrasive that had the whistle not been made of mithril, he would have worn a hole in it. His whole face was tense with fury he could not release. Eldehto twitched nervously as Anguelen finally looked at him again.

"Never fucking use this," he growled.

"But... but..."

"If you do," Anguelen continued, "I will make you feel so much pain that they cannot heal it in the fucking Undying Lands."

He pushed the whistle back into his brother's hand, glare unwavering. Tauremardë put her hands on her hips and sighed ruefully. "Anguelen, Anguelen... how many times must I say this? Do not shoot down those who fly on borrowed wings."

Anguelen looked at her with confusion that easily overrode his wrath. "What's that supposed to mean? Besides, I've got my own proverb. 'If you cannot cure a fool, then at least mock him viciously.' I think the term 'fool' applies to this little bastard here." At this point, he jabbed his brother sharply.

"One day, cousin dear, you will find that hating your brethren will only cause you pain and sorrow. And before you ask, the same goes for hating your sisters. In making war with your entire family, you will only make mistakes - ones I still regret, myself."

There was an uncomfortable silence between the brothers. It would have been unrealistic to expect Anguelen to apologise without his father there to force him, but the trace of guilt on his face spoke for itself.

All of a sudden, the door burst open and the rest of the guests stepped out, each of them carrying their own burdens. Tauremardë stood up straight.

"At last! Good-bye and see you some other time!" With that said, they had no choice but to leave quickly while she and her family waved their hands at them on the threshold and began to sing a farewell song.

* * *

The legend on the whistle, 'who is this who is coming', is taken from 'Oh, Whistle and I'll Come to You, My Lad' by MR James. (In that story it was originally in Latin, and Quenya is sometimes called Elf-Latin. Appropriate, no?)


	16. Tauremardë's Gift

"Has anyone actually got any idea where we should go from here?" Anguelen asked, eyeing the seemingly impenetrable forest before him sourly. "Legolas? I can tell you're the oldest and most experienced by the light of Elven wisdom and such things in your eyes, so can you get us out of this?"

By the grace of his Elven wisdom was Legolas able to avoid losing his temper over the barely veiled responsibility-shirking hiding in the words of this child. "I had hoped that you would know the way out of here; Gimli and I lost our way long ago in this strange forest."

"Funny... the mortal Men of this area usually have no problem navigating here. Then again, I've heard that Elves from other lands, when once in a blue moon they appear, either don't like walking in the woods or then they just hate the whole place including the village. I can't imagine why."

Gimli shot a glance at Anguelen and spoke quickly before Eldehto could finish his sentence about his daddy with his protective spells. "I knew some Elves to guard their treasures and offspring fiercely, but that the prince would not be allowed to venture outside his home..."

"Well... I _did_ have a chance to visit the Misty Mountains once..."

Eldehto paled suddenly. "I say! It's no use just standing here and pondering where we should go; if we just walk long enough, we'll get out at some point!" As if ashamed for stating the obvious with such vehemence, he set off with great speed. His brother was fast, though, and caught up with him soon enough.

"Yes, I'm sure the Misty Mountains were a great sight to behold! Of course, I never got there myself, but I imagine them to be a great place for meeting Orcs. Don't you think so, brother _dear_?"

"I've no idea what you're talking about, never saw any myself," Eldehto muttered. Anguelen took a couple of long strides and faced him.

"Oh, but I think you do. Remember when Father offered to let one of us go on that journey with Hwarinengwion? When I was so, _so_ close to convincing him that I'd behave myself in the Mountains if only he let me leave the forest for once in my blasted life? Remember what you said then?"

Eldehto backed off a little. "Actually, I don't."

"Well let me help you a bit with that..." Anguelen inched closer to Eldehto for cheap intimidation and recited in his best imitation of his brother's voice: "_Daddy, I don't think Anguelen is quite mature enough for such a journey! He would only get everybody in some horrible trouble; I, however, am your favourite son and as such deserve this trip so much more!_ Or at least that was the gist of what you told him. What have you got to say to that?"

Nothing, apparently, as that was what Eldehto said. He just glared at Anguelen and pushed him out of his way, hissing something about freaks of nature. Anguelen stood still for a few seconds before dashing forward and grabbing his arm.

"_What_ did you just say?"

Eldehto grimaced, aiming for a glare but never quite getting there. "I said," he repeated, "that you're a freak of nature and you should have been dropped into a chasm in the Mountains as a really shitty present for the goblins there."

"Freak? Whatever do you mean, freak?"

"The only thing separating you from Orcs is the way you look," Eldehto spat. "You have none of the grace or wisdom of our people; you may not have been shaped by the hand of the Enemy like your mongrel lover, but inside you are just as corrupt as he and his foul kindred!"

There was, perhaps surprisingly, no hatred in Anguelen's eyes. Just a sickeningly great amount of annoyance. "If you're quite finished talking with our father's mouth, you may want to take back what you said about Thraknash. Tearing the face off your empty skull may not be the most pleasant way to start this trip of ours, but I'll do it if it means I won't have to hear you spout such crap ever again."

"You need not bother," Thraknash said. "I couldn't care less what that pathetic child thinks of me and my kind."

Eldehto opened his mouth in indignation. Anguelen smirked and patted the sheath which held his new dagger. "I need the exercise, anyway. I suggest you start running right about now, my dear brother... when I eventually catch you, and you can rest assured that I will, I'll use your pallid flesh to test the sharpness of this dagger I just got."

Suddenly remembering that he was weaponless, Eldehto paled yet again. He took a few hesitant steps backwards before turning around and running as if he were chased by the werewolves of Morgoth himself. As Anguelen cackled malevolently, Burzum approached him with worry in his usually carefully indifferent eyes.

"But surely it is not your intent to start the whole Kinslaying thing anew?"

"Not really. I just like to scare him silly. Well then, we'll be waiting for you!" With that, Anguelen rushed after his brother.

"How does a mere servant of Darkness know of the Kinslaying?" asked Legolas suspiciously. When all Burzum did was look stupidly proud of himself, Gutbrúg responded for him.

"He reads a bit in whatever stolen books he can find and imagines that makes him the leading expert in Elven history and everything. But usually he's pretty amusing to have around."

Burzum gave him an annoyed nudge in the ribs. "I _do_ listen to our elders too, you know!" When Gutbrúg only looked impish instead of apologetic, Burzum flipped his limp hair and walked past him in as haughty a manner as he could possibly manage.

Gimli, for his part, looked surprised. "He can _read_?"

* * *

It was with even greater surprise that Gimli realised there were fewer and fewer trees in their way as they walked rapidly in the direction the two Elves had disappeared. Here and there, the light of the sun fell on the Orcs unfiltered with all its famished, covetous weight, like a swarm of mosquitoes that had finally rediscovered their errant prey. Sharrásh bore it with whatever effort it took to save his dignity; Grishtakh was nearly doubled over with pain, as was Gutbrúg; only Ghâshsag bathed in the heat with almost masochistic joy.

"Can't we just look in the gift bag and see if the Elf put some kind of cloak in there for us?" Krazum panted. He was doing his best shielding Gruzlak from the light and taking the brunt of it himself. "Who has it, anyway?"

"Anguelen," groaned Burzum. "I wonder if this might be an appropriate time to use the ring... Lady Tauremardë said it would help me in the 'brightest of sunlight', but I'm not sure if this is quite serious enough to…"

"It is, you sadistic bastard! Just try it, what's the worst thing that could happen?" Krazum cried. Although his tongue was as sharp as ever, his eyes were dim with agony.

Burzum took out the ring. "Very well..." After holding it still for a moment, in awe of its macabre beauty, he slipped it on his finger.

Krazum blinked. There was a curious sensation, as if the night had fallen hours before it was due, and the starless dark enveloped him and the Orc he was trying to protect from a pain that no longer ailed them. He stood up straight, and so did Gruzlak.

"I don't believe it..." Thraknash tentatively reached through the cloud of darkness and touched the ring. The bone adorning it felt chilly. "You don't think... this is almost like the Unlight, just fainter..."

Burzum's eyes widened. "Do you mean to tell me that this bone could be from the body of Ungoliant herself?"

"I was thinking one of her lesser descendants, really," Thraknash said, trying to remember if even giant spiders actually had bones in their bodies; he had personally never slain or dismembered one. Burzum, however, ignored all that and held the ring aloft with almost childlike reverence. The shadow spread and engulfed some of the other Orcs as well.

"No, it is of Ungoliant and no one else! To think that even such a small part of Her still holds so much power..."

Seeing that Burzum was not to be swayed, Thraknash just shrugged and stepped inside the cloud to see what it was like. The Orcs who were still being parched by the sun quickly and gratefully followed his example. And thus, safe and protected, they walked past the last tree of the forest into the outside world.


	17. Carnage Ahoy

It hadn't been very long since that first time Thraknash had seen Anguelen in broad daylight, but the difference still startled him. The simmering radiance flowing down from above made the Elf's graceful features stand out clearly, making it difficult to ignore his beauty as the Orc had done in the semi-darkness of the forest and within the dimly lit walls of Tauremardë's house. Anguelen noticed him standing in the murk emanating from the ring and smiled knowingly; Thraknash was struck by the depressing knowledge that they were still an Elf and an Orc, creatures of two warring races, standing apart from each other for all eternity. One in the searing light that exposed everything to its glare, one in the suffocating darkness that devoured all who lived within.

Then he almost slapped himself for thinking like Burzum. Perhaps his thoughts were being transmitted to him by the dark cloud. Or something like that. Thraknash really did not care; he left the cloud and walked up to Anguelen, for once forgetting to be smug about his ability to walk in the sunlight without so much as getting a headache.

"That's really impressive. Tauremardë did always know how to pick the best gifts."

"Hmm. I hope she gave us something just as useful..." Thraknash drawled, idly toying with the idea of throwing Anguelen to the ground and making up for all the times they hadn't been able to shag because of some goddamn fiend interrupting them or them having to do something irritating but necessary like eating and sleeping. Who cared if he was an Elf, he had this tendency to make Thraknash's libido rear its mighty head faster than he could think "oh shit, my brain has leaked into my groin."

"Oh, she did. She did indeed. I can't wait to show you," Anguelen murmured so seductively that only the thought of Krazum naked with his precious Commander Grilták stifled Thraknash's lust enough that he didn't act on it right there and then.

And speaking of a certain Mordor-Orc...

"_Please_. If you absolutely _must_ insist on disgracing the entire race of Orcs by lusting after a bloody Elf, couldn't you at the very least do it somewhere we don't have to see it?" Krazum whined. His scarred, once-broken nose was wrinkled in haughty distaste that might have looked somewhat out of place on wartorn orkish features, but for some strange reason suited him.

"He isn't that bad for an Elf," mused Thraknash, mentally undressing Anguelen. Perhaps he could persuade the others to leave for a couple of hours if he asked nicely, and if he couldn't, he could always threaten to beat them to death with their own lungs...

"I fucking give up. You get worse every day! Honestly, screw a virgin once and that's all he'll ever think of... did you hear that, Elf? You've com_plete_ly ruined a perfectly good Orc. I hope you're pleased with yourself."

"Why, thank you!" Anguelen tossed a maniacal grin at Krazum and glanced at the downhill slope that led away from the forest, frowning thoughtfully. "But for now I think we'd better continue... long way to go and all that shit, as they say."

"What?" Thraknash snapped out of his pleasant haze to the cold, harsh world. Or rather, to the sunshiny, warm world; in any case, it all seemed so very shitty to him. "Are you sure we don't have just a little time..?"

"I'm afraid so. Besides which, the thought of our... _friends_ over there just sitting and sulking and glaring at each other like brats while we're trying to have fun... no, I think we'll have to wait until we find a shelter of some kind."

"I see..." Thraknash shot the others such a malevolent glare that they actually backed off, startled. "Well, why don't we go find that shelter, then? As fast as inhumanly possible."

"How _splendid_ of you to have come to that conclusion. Come now, Burzum, start moving," Krazum commanded.

Burzum started to move as had been requested of him. Unlike Gimli and Legolas who were able to walk around freely, the other Orcs were suddenly in a hurry to follow him in order to stay inside the protective darkness. They rushed forward so heedlessly that, in retrospect, it should have come as no surprise that Gutbrúg managed to trip over Eldehto who had been sitting on the ground, hugging his knees like a petulant child. Of course, in Gutbrúg's defence it could be said that Eldehto had been virtually imperceptible, sitting quietly and hiddenly like that with his mystical Elven powers. By the time Grishtakh and Sharrásh were done separating his hair from Gutbrúg's numerous chains, he had at least rediscovered his mystical Elven skills of speech.

"I'm telling Daddy, you irresponsible twit," he spat at Anguelen. "I can't believe you threatened to maim me."

"And I can't believe you took it seriously _again_. Which do you prefer, that I actually add to your collection of bruises or just give you a little scare every time you say something deplorably stupid?"

Eldehto scowled and pulled at the snarls in his dark hair. Grishtakh helped Gutbrúg up, asking if he was still in one piece.

"Not bad!" Gutbrúg exclaimed. "Did you see my somersault?"

Taking his cloud another step further, Burzum stalked closer to Eldehto. Although his features were obscured by the all-devouring dark, his eyes gleamed as restlessly as ever. "You could always join me if the company of your brother does not please you... there is still room for you in the darkness."

Eldehto's jaw dropped. His pupils constricted as he stumbled a few steps away from Burzum. Casting one last panicky look at the Orc, he staggered to his brother as quickly as he could. It took him a while to catch him and Thraknash, but not long enough to justify his windedness.

"A-anguelen? I t-think Burzum wants to hurt me," he wheezed.

"We all do, Eldehto, we all do."

"He wants to pull me back into the darkness with him!"

"For fuck's..." Anguelen started.

"Shit, isn't that just what we needed," Thraknash muttered.

Anguelen scratched his ear thoughtfully. "Hmm?"

"If I'm interpreting Burzum's needlessly eloquent way of speech correctly, I foresee times of great suffering for us..."

"W-what does that _mean_? Is my life in danger or not?"

Seeing that his attempts at a bit of humour for a change went unnoticed, Thraknash sighed in resignation. "First off, there'll be poetry. It will be bad, and it will frequent. Then he'll start bothering me, because I seem to be the one with the most experience with Elves. And _then_, he will…"

"Hurt me!?"

"Don't mind if I do," Anguelen inserted although his annoyance was already on the wane.

"Right. But as I was about to say... well, I forgot what I was about to say. But rest assured that you won't have it easy, young one."

Eldehto walked stiffly, already too lost in thought to point out to Thraknash that he too was a fairly young one and as such shouldn't be patronising others; and every time the Elf chanced a quick glance at the Orcs following them, Burzum quickly looked away as though he had been staring at him longingly.

* * *

At some point in time (quite close to evening, to be precise), Krazum started to act strangely. Since this was not a very unusual occurrence in his life, only Gruzlak noticed. It wasn't before Krazum started to complain aloud that the others realised something was amiss with him.

"...I'm telling you, something is rotting out there!" he croaked, and for some reason this made him claw at the scar running across his face.

"Yeesss... it's making me hungry," Gutbrúg drooled. Sharrásh nodded eagerly and continued sniffing at the air.

"I don't like this, not one bit..."

Thraknash gave him a look over his shoulder. "Well, you know, Krazum... there are plenty of things you don't like."

"Yeah, why should this concern us?" added Grishtakh to the conversation. He didn't seem to like the stench coming from the distance as much as Gutbrúg and Sharrásh did, but there was no reason for him to agree with Krazum. He was considered to be a real pain in the arse even though his many skills served the tribe well. The fact that the tribe was now broken certainly hadn't dulled his sense of self-importance and superiority from days long past, lending evidence to the theory that Krazum's otherwise well-developed sense of self-preservation had suffered in some respects during the war.

"You should listen to him... I'm getting a bad feeling about this, too," Gruzlak muttered, ever faithful to his idol.

"Burned ships of Alqualondë! What _is_ that stench? It's like sheer pus being pushed straight into my nostrils!" Even with his less than orkish nose, Anguelen could smell it clearly now.

Eldehto deftly fled the offensive foetor by leaping on top of a high rock, whereon he pretended to be looking out for whatever was causing the reek lest he be called craven. His surprise was great indeed when he actually _did_ see something.

"Brother! There is something there – a site of ambush, I think!"

"Manwë's bollocks. Corpses?"

"A great many of them! A Tintallë... so much blood... it stains the ground..."

Ghâshsag nearly bumped into Krazum, who had stopped dead in his tracks. "I'm not going there."

"Don't be such a rotten coward, Krazum! It's only blood. You've seen plenty of blood in your numerous battles with good old Commander Grilták, remember? And let's not forget about the last war, hmm? What about all the beheaded soldiers and hacked limbs you saw then?"

"Shut up, Thraknash. Just because you're a sodding Uruk, you think you are better than me. I just have this one, just _one_ little shortcoming that sometimes makes my life a wee bit difficult, but you can't even let me ignore that! I am perfectly aware of the fact that there is something wrong with me and it's not something I'm proud of! And it's kind of hard to forget too, what with you and everybody else rubbing my nose in it all the time! I _know_ I can no longer be of any use in battle! I _know_ that makes me inferior to you high and mighty bloody fucking Uruk-hai! If you're such an almighty genius, then _tell me_ _what in the name of Gorthaur I should do about it_."

Thraknash looked at Krazum, quite impressed. The Mordor-Orc had stopped walking, but he was wheezing as though he had just run one of the famous Gorgoroth gantelopes.

"I say you should start walking again before you get left behind, weakling," Gutbrúg teased.

Krazum's head whipped in Gutbrúg's direction, eyes narrowed into burning gashes of pure hatred. "Oh yeah? Well, fuck you through the ground and then some, ratmaggot," he spat. Literally. Ghâshsag had to duck to avoid being sprayed with the spittle; he was afraid it might be as virulent as Krazum's voice.

"Grr. Touchy..." Gutbrúg growled in a disturbing imitation of Anguelen's amorous murmur, bewildering Krazum enough to make him forget his anger.

And in the no longer distant distance, waiting with all the patience in the world for the Orcs to be done with their insignificant squabbles, the smell of blood rose to greet them like a malevolent adversary with all its malodorous valour.


	18. And Soon the Blasphemy

A solitary drop of sweat slid down Krazum's forehead. He wiped it off with a trembling hand. "I wonder what the cor-corpses look like."

The sun was setting at a torturously slow pace, still throwing spear-like rays at the travellers as if out of spite. The Unlight grew darker and heavier, mocking their fading brilliance; Burzum stifled a smile at this. "Dead, I'd imagine."

"They're probably all hacked up and bl-bleeding. And flayed and charred and punctured. Maybe their eyes have been gouged out and their fingers cut off and their bones bro... broken-" Krazum started coughing violently, shivering and twitching.

"If it disgusts you so much, then stop thinking about it. Why are you torturing yourself with it, anyway?" Thraknash asked, getting tired of the endless stream of imagined horrors clawing themselves out of Krazum's vile mouth.

"But I can't stop, damn you! It's like poking a w-wound until it starts bleeding again. It's revolting. It makes me sick. I can't stop thinking about it."

Gruzlak stared at Krazum helplessly. Not sure what to do, he turned to the closest thing he had for a band leader and shot him a pleading look. Thraknash observed the trembling wreck he had once almost respected as a fellow warrior. "You need help, you wretch. I wonder if another concussion might do the trick."

"What good is that going to do," Gruzlak muttered dourly, deciding to waste no more time on Uruk sympathy. He wrapped his arm round Krazum's waist, using his weight to drag the tall Orc forward a bit faster; they were already walking outside the dark cloud, in danger of being left behind. "Come, Krazum, I'm with you... you'll get through it. And it's only blood. It can't cut you."

The sun sank beyond the horizon, tincturing the sky bearing its weight a throbbing hue of red.

* * *

"Well, it looks to me that they've been only killed, not mutilated," Anguelen observed. He turned over the small Orc's body, examining the gash on his narrow chest.

"Yes, they've been left in a pretty good shape," Gutbrúg mused, poking at another dead Orc with a stick. Sharrásh was looking at the corpse over Gutbrúg's shoulder.

"Is it still fresh?"

"Oh, Sharrásh! Of course it is, but why would we eat it? We've got plenty of meat in our backpacks, and we can always try hunting for more. Besides, let me tell you something... I never really liked the taste of Orc-flesh."

Sharrásh shrugged and bent down to sniff the corpse. "It still feels like wasting a perfectly good meal."

"Maybe in the mountains, but now we've got better food. Just leave it alone."

Standing nearby and unfortunately hearing every word, Legolas shuddered with disgust. Of course he knew that Orcs would not hesitate to resort to cannibalism if nothing save the apparently bitter-tasting flesh of their kin was available – and indeed, they might even do so gladly – but the thought never failed to nauseate him.

Gimli, for his part, eyed the site of massacre solemnly. He was not thinking of the little discussion he had overheard with Legolas; there were at least thirty slain Orcs lying on the ground, and his thoughts were turned to them. He had slain so many more of those creatures than just thirty. Had they all been as annoying as the ones he now travelled with?

"It's sickening, just sickening," Krazum choked. He was doing his best to avoid looking at the death surrounding him by staring fixedly at a spot of ground not stained by blood.

Gimli studied him with great interest. "What could happen to an Orc that robs him of his thirst for blood?"

"No," Krazum whimpered to himself.

At this point, Gruzlak decided that letting him stay where the corpses were was benefitting absolutely no one, Krazum least of all. He seized the larger Orc's arm. "Let's go somewhere else for a while. The others can do the looting without us..."

"No, that won't be necessary," Krazum said, finally looking up. He flinched weakly as his gaze met a pile of corpses, but he stayed where he was. "I've allowed this to get this bad... Perhaps I could get used to blood again if I start here... good opportunity..."

In addition to the usual uncritical reverence, Gruzlak's eyes were filled with relief. "You can do anything, can't you." He grinned as he let go of Krazum's arm. "I'll just get you some water from Anguelen, wait here!" With that, he dashed off in search of the Elf who had disappeared somewhere behind the rocks that lay scattered all over the area.

Gruzlak may have been a quick runner, but his sharp eyes warned him just in time as one of the rocks suddenly and incomprehensibly sprouted an arm that was pointing a sword at his head. He stopped so abruptly that he lost his balance and fell flat on his arse, barely avoiding the blade. Gruzlak looked up in shock as a grey figure seemed to grow out of the stone, the sword still firmly in its hand. A pair of cold, terrible eyes looked down on him.

Slowly crawling away from the thing that had been a boulder, Gruzlak noticed _another_ figure coming from behind the other; they looked alike with their dark hair and fair faces, and both stared at him with grey eyes that had been touched by starlight and wisdom of years long gone. It took Gruzlak three full seconds to realise that they were Elves, and two more to remember this meant that since he was not running away from them, he should probably be preparing to die.

The Elf behind the one who was holding the sword spoke words of his unfathomable language; the other said nothing, but sneered and raised the weapon. Its blade flashed, reflecting the dying sunlight that still illuminated the sky.

So transfixed had Gruzlak been by the sight that he hadn't heard the running steps coming in their direction, but he finally flinched out of his trance as the blade was stopped by another. The weapons screeched upon contact, and the Elf's sword shaved sparks off Krazum's blocking blade.

"Another Elf making an attempt on our lives," the red-head panted, baring his teeth. "I will make sure you are the last."

The Elf looked at Krazum darkly, but did not attack again. It was not often that an Orc risked his life for another; it was making him wary. Gruzlak stood up on shaky legs, peeking at the strangers from behind Krazum's back. His heart was thumping so hard that it made him queasy.

Suddenly the other Elf looked past the Orcs, and his cold glare became a confused smile. "Legolas! Gimli... how strange that we should meet here of all places. Were you hunting down these devils as well?"

Legolas opened his mouth, but suddenly found it difficult to reply. "Ah... it is not so, but... 'tis a very complicated matter..."

Being his friend and all, Gimli helped him. "We travel with them until they can lead us out of this land."

The strangers stood quietly, considering this. Finally, the one with the sword spoke. "You travel with them."

"That is what he said. So how about you put the sword down now? Gruzlak here isn't used to getting attacked by lunatics who brandish sharp things at him."

Another glare from the sword-wielder. "And for what reason would I spare the life of an Orc? Never have I shown mercy to them before; for in their hands did my beloved mother suffer so much terror that she could find no healing in these lands."

Krazum stared at him blankly. "Are you trying to tell me that you killed all these Orcs just because some group of Orcs once hurt your mother? Why didn't you kill them, instead?"

"We _did_," responded the Elf, sounding slightly offended.

"I've never even seen your mummy! And neither has Gruzlak - in fact, the only Elven woman we've ever seen is his cousin!" Krazum scoffed, pointing at the auburn-haired head now visible behind the strangers.

Anguelen jabbed at the other Elf's back lightly with his grandfather's sword. "Listen to the voice of reason. He seldom speaks through Krazum's mouth, but this is one of those rare occasions."

The other Elf glanced over his shoulder. He did not look particularly worried, but sheathed his sword anyway and turned his gaze back to the Orcs. "You owe us an explanation, Legolas..."

* * *

Flinging the last corpse into the shallow pit he had made Sharrásh and Gutbrúg dig, Thraknash was already wondering how to get the new Elves to leave. The other strangers were a collective pain in the arse already, so he felt he could be quite easily forgiven for being so unwelcoming.

"Well, at least after this the golugs won't come to eat them," Sharrásh noted, satisfied. He looked pointedly at the Elves who were having a little discussion with Gimli and Legolas.

"That's just a myth, anyway," Thraknash muttered before deciding that it would do no good to tell that to a snaga. They had their own little beliefs, and he had no interest in arguing with them. "Now we need to set them on f…"

"Me! Me me me!" Ghâshsag squealed, waving a torch in his little fist. "I'm better at it than anyone else!"

That was another thing Thraknash was not going to argue with, so he just got out of the way and let Ghâshsag do what he best did. As the flames began to consume the dead, everybody gathered close to the fire – with the exception of Krazum who was feeling ill again now that danger was safely over, and Gruzlak who wouldn't let him out of his sight.

Burzum chanted hoarsely. The other Moria-Orcs joined him in certain parts, as though singing a grim refrain.

"What..?" Thraknash asked, bewildered.

"It's a snaga thing. Don't you worry your pretty Uruk head with it," Ghâshsag said. He looked strangely sombre, standing there with his torch and staring at his beloved fire. Perhaps it was not only the memory of Orcs he was burying.

Grishtakh inched closer to the non-orkish audience. He was looking at Anguelen curiously. "Uhh... so they are dead now."

"It would certainly seem so."

"...this isn't the first time I've seen things die."

"Ah. The war..?"

"Well, that too, and the fact that we kind of like killing our own when we get bored, but... you know, I once had a tapeworm. And, because it lived inside my gut or something, it was making me a little bit sick."

"I see. What happened?"

"Chief Gorluk told Krazum to make me a potion, so he did. Then I drank it."

A silence. "And?"

"Next morning the tapeworm was dead."

Some of the Orcs were gaping at Grishtakh by now. The Elves had started a lot earlier.

"Anguelen, what happens to tapeworms when they die?"

"I suppose you shit it out and that's it." Anguelen shrugged. "I've never had parasites."

Grishtakh nodded, seeming a bit more enlightened than before.

The fire crackled gently.

Night had fallen.

* * *

Gratuitous reference note: although the chapter doesn't take any particular inspiration from the film, its name is based on And Soon the Darkness from 1970.


	19. Horrid Love Blooms on the Battlefield

Another short filler chapter. I did a lot of these back when I had an update schedule of sorts. (I wasn't all that great at chapter planning back then!)

* * *

"Feast your eyes on this, Ghâshsag," Gutbrúg boasted, dangling some fresh fruit over the fire. "Corpsewood-smoked apple, almost as good as applewood-smoked corpse. Fruits have flesh too, right?"

"Ignore them, don't make eye contact. That's how we cope with it," Thraknash told the strangers - although they weren't really strangers anymore, having introduced themselves as Elladan and Elrohir. "It's commonly believed those Moria-brats are born with a rock for a brain, anyway."

"You Uruk-hai always take everything so seriously," Grishtakh complained. He was trying to impress Sharrásh into talking by roasting an entire chicken while holding it with his bare hands. Not very surprisingly, it soon became too hot to hold and he dropped it. "Blimey..."

Sharrásh sneered and swiftly impaled the bird with the cleaner one of his two swords. He studied the charred meat for a while and decided that he wouldn't let the ash ruin his little snack; he began to chew the still smoking chicken, making disgustingly satisfied noises while he was at it. Grishtakh bowed his head in defeat and reverence.

"_Morgoth Bauglir_. Stop that at _once_."

"Oh, let them be disgusting, Thraknash. I think they are rather endearing when they do things like that," said Anguelen in defence of the adorable little urchins. He was grinning as though he too had been born with a rock for a brain. His brother sniffed arrogantly, being used to such behaviour. To everybody's immense delight, that was the only sound Eldehto had made in a long time. No doubt he was still miffed because of his little quarrel with Anguelen.

Ghâshsag cast a stone into the fire to make it regurgitate sparks. He was not disappointed, but sparks weren't enough for him; he looked around until he found a stick and started to poke the immolated corpses. His eyes twinkled with childlike joy of discovery and sense of wonder as pieces of dead Orc fell on the charred ground. Until that point, Elladan had only been looking at Ghâshsag in an amazed daze, but now he could no longer just stare quietly.

"Even after all that I have seen, I cannot believe that there are creatures who would defile their dead in such a hideous manner. Why allow you them to do this?" he asked Anguelen, whom he apparently saw as the leader of the group of Orcs, him being an Elf and all that.

"I don't see why I should interfere in anything they choose to do if it has got nothing to do with me. The way I see it, I've got no right to tell them what to do as they're all full-grown specimens of their splendid race. Besides, they have almost equal disrespect for the living and the dead; what they are now doing to those corpses, they might just as well have done to them while they were still alive."

Anguelen got many an incredulous stare for that little speech. Krazum, who had finally returned to the proximity of the fire, sighed tiredly. "As incredible as it feels, I think I liked you better when you were just an immature brat. Another precocious twit I didn't need."

"I thank you for those kind words," Anguelen said with a serpentine smirk that could have made a pack of Morgoth's werewolves squeal like pups.

Thraknash barely suppressed the cackle tickling at his throat. The Elf was obnoxious, nasty, fearsome, perverted and occasionally cruel; Thraknash was convinced that he could not have found a better mate in the pits of Utumno. How strange it was that such a marvellous creature could come from such worthless parents!

"You look like you see something you like..."

Thraknash whispered something into Anguelen's ear. Understanding came upon the Elf's features, much like Thraknash would do later, and he flashed another grin. Upon noticing this, Legolas gave a weary cough and turned quickly to Elladan and Elrohir. "It is already dark, and Gimli and I wish to rest. Perhaps you are tired as well after slaying so many?"

Elrohir looked at him apprehensively. "You sound strange, Legolas. Do you sense something that I do not?"

"Never mind what he senses, I've no desire to be here if those two start... let us just go somewhere else for the night." Gimli muttered grimly, already pushing the twins away from the pyre.

"There's a nice place behind those rocks," Anguelen told Thraknash. That was all the persuasion the Uruk needed, and soon they too were gone.

The other Orcs left after a while, bored of playing with the fire and stuffing themselves with chicken. Eldehto stayed where he was, staring morosely at the flames; in vain he still expected Anguelen to come back and apologise to him like their father had forced him to do so many times in the past.

Someone did come back to the fire, but Eldehto could tell by the sound of his heavy-booted steps that he was not Anguelen. His back stiffened immediately as the familiar cold shivers began their endless rampage on his spine. He could not move, not even when the Orc stood right behind him.

"Such a choice I am burdened with," the raspy voice muttered. "They are both carriers of a deathly beauty."

"What do you mean," Eldehto managed to say. He wondered if an Elf could fade simply from being too nervous.

"I mean many things." Burzum stepped forward so that he could look at the Elf's pale profile. "However, I mean not to confuse you this time; I was merely wondering how you can both be so beautiful, this fiery tomb and you."

"Oh." Eldehto's voice was barely audible.

"It may seem like a choice between life and death, to choose between you and the pyre..."

Burzum caught Eldehto's eye. The Elf started and looked back into the fire.

"...but is that not what all Elves are to all Orcs..?"

Despite such pompousness practically being his native language, Eldehto failed to understand what Burzum wanted to say. His confusion turned into blankness as Burzum draped a long arm round his quivering shoulders. The yellow goblin-gleam bored straight into the pale blue of Eldehto's twitching eyes.

"...moths are drawn to fire, after all..."

Eldehto turned so red that not even the flames at their brightest could have made his face appear any more colourful. He let out a tiny squeak and squirmed free, running like the wind to the direction his brother had gone.

"ANGUELEEEEEEEEEENNN!"

* * *

Anguelen was preoccupied as could be expected, but even he could not ignore the decidedly un-Elven noise and fuss with which his lousy brother arrived at the scene to interrupt his private time with Thraknash. He looked up from the Uruk's lap as Eldehto stumbled to their 'secret' place.

"I know you told me to never use the whistle, but I need help, quick!" the wretch was screaming. "I told you I was in danger, I told you but you didn't believe me!"

"Now what have you been imagining again?" Anguelen asked in a less than brotherly fashion. In fact, he sounded downright murderous.

"Burzum wants to BURN me!"

"...I fucking hate you."

"No, he was going on about moths and pyres and... he... Anguelen! What... what do you think you're doing?" Eldehto looked from his brother to the previously ignored Thraknash, eyes widening with shock.

"How can you be so ignorant? Obviously I'm giving Thraknash some head. Or I _was_ giving him head before you had to come here and ruin the atmosphere. Go away before I get up and help you, you complete tosser."

"But... the moths..." Eldehto's eyes darted quickly from his brother's face to what was close to his brother's face and he slowly came to the conclusion that, as had so kindly been suggested, he should probably leave them alone. He did so with all the haste he could muster up.

"And I thought I've known dense fuckers in my life," Thraknash said, shaking his head.

"You can say that again. Just don't expect me to provide sparkling commentary as I won't be able to continue this conversation for a while..."


	20. Almost on the Road

The dreams got stranger with each passing year. Sometimes they concerned normal things such as his old home in the depths of Moria, his own little nest carved into a wall that overlooked one of the seemingly endless chasms the Dwarves had delved ages ago. He remembered familiar things in his dreams; he remembered peeking out of his hole in the wall when the flame-shadow walked so close that his fire lit up the small cavern for a moment, and sneaking down into the caves as deep as he could, bringing back things that glittered and were still incandescent with the heat of the fire that dwelled in the darkness.

Tonight he did not dream of chasms, but the place was still one he knew well: a deserted room hardly anyone thought to visit these days. To him, it was one of the most interesting places in all of Moria. He bent down to examine the carvings in the floor, reading the letters he could and never understanding a word of the Dwarvish language. He picked up the ancient axe from where he had left it last time and wondered if it could still behead its enemies as easily as it had when Dwarves and Orcs had fought in these halls and caves, long before he had been birthed in one of the damp pits to fight in a war of his own.

There was a hoary, dusty, terribly fascinating skeleton sitting on a chair made out of stone. The clothes it had worn with pride in life now were merely worn by dust, and the dented armour was dim and hung from weary bones, the flesh of the Dwarf long gone. This one had been killed in secret. The black arrow that had done the deed had fallen to the floor when its victim's flesh had rotted away. Now the slain Dwarf sat there quietly, blaming no one for his early demise.

"It's not as if I couldn't just come up there and decorate your little dungeon with the blood of the innocent, you know."

Well, perhaps not so quietly.

"Don't think you are the only one of your kind here. He will rise again in ire soon, I know it. You will be in here with us until you die."_  
_

He looked at the Dwarf with the axe still in his hand. The jaws of the skeleton worked lazily, bits and pieces falling off every now and then.

"Climb it, I said! Climb it, you slavering bastard! Let's see _you_ bring them all to ruin, bring us all to ruin!"

He looked around to see if there were others in the room. There weren't. The skeleton must have gone mad in its solitude, he reasoned. The bony cackle coming forth from the fleshless throat made its lower jaw come off. He dropped the axe on the floor.

_Ridiculous._

Ghâshsag opened his eyes, only to close them again for the fleeting moment it took him to blink. For some reason, the cackling didn't stop when the dream did. He sat up and cursed silently.

"Listen to him go at it again," Gutbrúg snickered next to him. He was lying on his stomach, looking intently and with great amusement at the source of the voice that had invaded Ghâshsag's dream.

Sharrásh was sitting upright, his glazed eyes staring at the moon swimming through the emptiness of the night sky away from the impending dawn. His face twitched as if with rage or embarrassment. "...in his great name. He will put out the eyes that stare and bend us all under his will before the end of everything..."

"What is this..? Has he gone mad?" asked Elladan, emerging from the shadows. He was followed by the other Elves and Gimli. They all looked a bit haggard after such a wake-up, not to mention ready to pummel Sharrásh for giving it to them.

"He's ranting in his sleep again," Grishtakh told Elladan, rubbing his watery eyes.

Sharrásh stopped shouting and turned his head. "I'm not asleep," he stated, sounding almost offended.

"Well, yes, that makes it all right to wake us all up." Grishtakh stretched lazily and tried to scratch his back. "What brought this on again?"

"Sometimes I have to let it out." Sharrásh looked dazed. He stared at Ghâshsag's general direction, eyes unfocused. "It's all right now. Just go back to Moria like you do every night."

But Ghâshsag shivered and swiftly stood up. "No thank you. What if you slit my throat in my sleep, you mad bastard? I think I'm going to get breakfast instead." He started walking towards the pyre.

"Breakfast? But it's far too early for that," Sharrásh protested, but followed Ghâshsag anyway. Even those who were not Orcs somehow found it in their hearts to deem this madness normal, if only to reduce the stress of having to endure it, and went to join the Orcs at the pyre.

* * *

Anguelen flung more sticks into the fire. He had not been able to find much wood in the area, and he was certainly not going to return to the forest just to get some. Glancing briefly at the trees still looming in the horizon, he sat down beside Thraknash. A blackened skull grimaced at them from the pile of corpses. Anguelen sighed and wrapped his arm round Thraknash's waist.

"Just you, me, and a bunch of dead Orcs who won't tell anyone."

Thraknash said nothing; he started to unbutton Anguelen's black jacket almost lazily, wondering why the hell he had let him put it back on in the first place. The Elf smelled salty.

"I thought you were tired."

"And I thought perhaps you'd like to do all the work this time. You promised to nail me to the mattress in your cousin's house. What happened to that?"

"You mean what I did wasn't enough? Then I suppose I could nail you to the ground, too. It just isn't very soft, you know."

"It doesn't have to be, damn it... now just get out of these…"

And of _course_ his sentence was interrupted by a horrified gasp undoubtedly coming from one of the strangers. He was seriously beginning to question the need to travel in larger groups; these kinds of things seemed to happen all the bleeding time, after all.

Elrohir (or Elladan, Thraknash wasn't sure which) seemed quite torn between the instinct to rush forward and 'save' his fellow Elf from being defiled by this fell creature and the feeling that he should probably just wait for a logical explanation, even though there really was nothing unclear about the situation. When Anguelen saw the twins gaping at them, Gimli and Legolas looking away with mild irritation and the Moria-Orcs mostly snickering knowingly, he sighed and gave up hope.

"What is it now? Have we been too noisy for your delicate ears or something?" he asked through the grinding of his teeth.

Unanimously, Legolas and Gimli gave Eldehto a meaningful little nudge. He glared at them with a wounded look in his eyes before turning to his brother, trying to avoid his glower. "The, umm, the little ones couldn't sleep anymore, so they thought that they would like to come here and get something to eat."

"Did they, now."

"Why, yes! We'd very much like to get some breakfast!" chirped Gutbrúg, clearly fully aware of how annoying he sounded.

Thraknash finally pulled his hand out of Anguelen's jacket. "Breakfast, eh? How about I feed you your guts for breakfast, you little piece of shit?"

"Depends. Would you serve my brain as a side dish and take me to a fancy place in Mordor to eat them?"

Thraknash frowned, took one of the sticks that weren't burning yet and chucked it at the grinning snaga. Gutbrúg caught it easily and allowed it to join its brethren in their fiery death.

The fact that Thraknash hadn't got up to kill them all told the Orcs that it was safe to sit down, and by Morgoth, that's what they did. The quiet of the night slipped away in horror as they began to talk, laugh, fight and generally make so much noise that there was no way anyone could have concentrated on shagging even if he had tried with all his might. Anguelen acknowledged his defeat in this and settled for stealing food from Eldehto when he came to sit beside his brother.

"Why can't you eat your own food, you lousy thief?" asked Eldehto when he noticed what was going on.

"I'll start doing that when you and the others start leaving me and Thraknash alone when we want to be alone – if you even know what I mean. Before that occurs, I will keep what is yours as compensation."

"That reminds me... when are you going to give us our farewell gifts?" Grishtakh asked, mouth full of dark bread.

"When I feel like it," came the curt reply.

"He's probably using them as some kinds of accessories with Thraknash." Gutbúrg shrugged and sank his teeth into a loaf of bread that was grey with mildew. Grishtakh grimaced with disgust.

"Where did you get that? It _stinks_, damn you!"

"I've had it since winter. I reckoned that if I let it spoil, no one would try to beg for it."

Ignoring the revolting bread, Anguelen grinned. "It _could_ be that I use them for extra fun with Thraknash... but then again, it could be that I'm capable of satisfying him without the help of any... _accessories_, as you so quaintly put it."

Gutbrúg paused mid-chew. "Elves. You can never get a direct answer out of them." He swallowed the piece of bread in his mouth without finishing chewing it. "Though I have to admit that you haven't been nearly as incomprehensible as I've heard other Elves to be. Burzum's often a lot worse."

Keeping his silence, Burzum seemed to smirk with undeserved satisfaction. Eldehto twitched and quickly moved closer to Anguelen. And finally, the sky in the east began to turn a lovely shade of red, much like blood diluted with water. Gimli and the other Elves disappeared in the direction of the rising sun, talking quietly to each other.

Eldehto watched them go, deep in thought. "I don't think they like you very much," he concluded after a while.

Anguelen snorted. The crude sound made his brother frown. "I can tell, you know."

"Doesn't it bother you?"

"They're right to trust their instincts, aren't they," Anguelen laughed. "Ah... I wonder if any of them are from Rivendell, though."

Grishtakh broke two eggs on a frying pan, ears twitching. "Rivendell? That's the place near the High Pass, isn't it?" He put the pan above the last modest flame remaining of yesterday's glorious blaze and watched his breakfast cook. "We know someone from that place. He says raiding has been pretty bad in recent years because it's so close to Elves and bear... bearlings?"

"Yes, it's a nice, safe road. We will take that one, won't we?"

Several pairs of eyes turned to Eldehto. They then turned to Anguelen, as though asking him to explain to his brother why it could not be done. Anguelen sighed. "We would have to go through Rivendell to take that road." Glancing at Eldehto, he found his brother as vacuous as he had expected and only barely contained his annoyance at the fact. "We will not go through Rivendell."

"But... but I wanted to visit it again. They know Daddy there." Eldehto's lower lip wobbled already.

"Yes, unfortunately they know of our little community there. No doubt that's one of the reasons they," Anguelen gestured at the sun, "aren't particularly fond of us - if they are from Rivendell, that is. And they would still have plenty of reasons to dislike us even if they weren't."

"Well maybe they dislike you," Eldehto snapped, "but nobody said a single bad word to me in Rivendell. Lord Elrond was just as kind as Daddy..."

"You must know this makes him sound rather unpleasant to me."

"...he even looked at me the same way when he thought I didn't notice. Always this sad, worried look, just like Daddy."

Any insults forming in Anguelen's mind at that moment decided to perish out of shame for even considering such an easy target. "And you call that kindness."

"Well, that means he worries for my sake because he wants me to be happy, doesn't it? We live in a dangerous world, after all."

For a long while Anguelen held his forehead in his hands, as if warding off a coming headache. The sun was starting to shed its red veil, he noticed. The Orcs would soon need shelter. "We are _not_ going to Rivendell."

"But _why_?"

Anguelen bared his teeth, considered going for an insult after all, and stopped abruptly as the look in his eyes turned slightly unhinged. "I say! I say, lads, who fancies a visit to a stuffy Elf-place with me and my brother?" he hollered at the Orcs sitting by the fire. "You'll get a quick arrow in the face if you're lucky, it'll be such a lark!"

A terrible silence fell all of a sudden. Someone gave a quick, nervous laugh, as though waiting for a punchline. Krazum was less forgiving. "Can't you do something about him, Thraknash?"

The Uruk in question shrugged. "He's just making his point. Sit down and eat."

His point having indeed been made, Anguelen turned back to his brother. "That's why we're taking a different road. We'll go east for a while and make plans when we're out of Father's territory."

"Sharrásh knows something of maps and roads," said Thraknash, perking up considerably at the prospect of leaving the area with Anguelen. "We'll ask him when his brain manages to shake off some of its cobwebs."

Everybody seemed to be happy with this plan. The Orcs, relieved that they would not be dragged to Rivendell by this mad Elf, resumed their chatter; Grishtakh even fried Anguelen some eggs in a fit of childish gratitude. The only one in the whole group who was not happy was, of course, Eldehto. He waited for his brother to come to his senses and announce the only logical plan there was for two travelling Elves to make. However, Anguelen did not come to his senses and say that of course they would leave the Orcs, visit Rivendell and take the safe path - or even better, come back home after sufficient frolic and merriment and sad hidden glances in Elrond's homely house. It seemed that they would go beyond the boundaries of their little world and Elven strongholds after all, and suddenly Eldehto missed his father more than ever.


	21. First Contact

Hello to the new readers! Glad to see someone other than the author likes this, hehe.

* * *

Gruzlak took another bite out of the strip of meat he had had no time to roast before the rest of the band was off again. Blood dripped down his chin no matter how carefully and thoughtfully he attempted to eat, but he was quick to gather the drops and lick them off his fingers. He cast a swift glance at Krazum to see if he was nauseous, but he hadn't even noticed. Apparently, he was still furious about being woken up so early. At least this time they _had_ been woken up for breakfast, but Krazum rarely slept well and was so angry about this interruption that he had refused to eat just so he could concentrate on fuming silently with all of his available strength. Gruzlak frowned and sucked the remaining blood out of the piece of meat with an unintended slurp.

Krazum quivered. His glare slipped off for a while, revealing a mixture of nausea and fear. Only Gruzlak noticed, as was evidenced by his quiet apology, for all the others were more or less ignoring the perpetually wound ball of fury for the sake of their own blood pressure. Krazum tolerated the unpleasant feeling; after all, Gruzlak was small for his age and needed the nourishment. He gave the little one a forced smile that threatened to completely vanish when he saw the red stains around his little mouth. Why did all the animals have to have red blood, anyway? Had it been black, he could have at least pretended it was some kind of oil.

To his immense dismay, the expression on Gruzlak's face was that of pity. "_Isn't it just typical of me to __find someone who doesn't annoy me incessantly and have him feel sorry for me instead," _he thought. Nevertheless, he continued to expose his nail-sharp teeth in what he hoped to hell was still a smile.

"Oh, look... I think you've grown up a little. You'll reach my shoulders in no time if you carry on like that." The observation was easily made as he had noticed the change in Gruzlak's stature a lot earlier. It pleased him that the little wretch was finally beginning to grow to his true height. Having been taken out of the mudpit far too early, he had been quite incomplete when he had first met Krazum. Incomplete, and admittedly a little incompetent. Very much like an actual child, perhaps: not fully grown, ignorant, constantly confused about things of which Orcs should have inherent knowledge.

"It's probably because I've been finally getting some proper food, isn't it? I feel a lot stronger, too!"

Gruzlak had learned fast, though. And now that Krazum had had the more or less happy opportunity to observe real children, he gave thanks to the Dark Lord every day for not making Gruzlak one. The bruise in his side smarted still, reminding him of the brutest creatures he had ever met outside the battlefield, but the bruising grip on his mind once again loosed in Gruzlak's presence.

Meanwhile, Thraknash was busy listening to Eldehto whine at Anguelen. While Krazum usually was content to sulk and glare and therefore safe to ignore, some violence could result from the discussion of the brothers.

"...just that you're not the one who has got to explain to Daddy why I did not return home after meeting Tauremardë! Just what do you think I'm going to tell him?"

"The truth comes to mind. After all, since you're so old and mature, I'm sure he agrees that you have the right to go on a little excursion every now and then. Also, he thinks you can do no wrong."

"Bollocks!" Eldehto cried, indulging in a rare curse now that he did not have to play the good son. "I know he's going to flay me, I just know it!"

Anguelen rolled his eyeballs with gusto and almost tripped over a small stone for his efforts. "It's quite likely that he'll just blame me as usual... if we ever see him again, that is," he reasoned as soon as he regained his balance. "We probably won't, or at least that's what I hope."

Eldehto thought about it. "I won't see Mother either, then?"

"Probably not, which is a pity as I'll actually miss her. Frankly, I don't know how you ever turned out that way with a mother like her. I've seen you interact with her, so surely it can't be that she let Father bring you up all by himself?"

"Bollocks," said Eldehto again.

"Ooh, the little one has learned a new word."

"Shut your mouth." Eldehto started to sulk, kicking small stones in his way and taking a small amount of comfort in the fact that at least _he_ wasn't stumbling over them like certain other Elves he was not going to name. Anguelen was a lying bastard, anyway. Eldehto would meet his parents again no matter what he said. The young Elf's angry silence, unlike that of Krazum, spread among the group and quickly became awkward.

"I'm getting depressed," Grishtakh stated.

"This kind of silence _is_ depressing to listen to," agreed Ghâshsag. "I'm beginning to wish that we had a bigger group, actually. We could sing a song of war or something like that... remember those, Grishtakh? They were the only part of the war I liked after that charging horse-rider... well, you were there."

"Ooh, nasty business, that," Grishtakh agreed quickly before Ghâshsag could start dwelling on the way the man had met his end. He broke into a song, hoping to raise his friend's spirits. "_The road goes on and ever on and ever bleeding on it goes..._"

Burzum perked up immediately, which could be seen in the way he raised his carefully lowered head so much that some of the lank hair falling all over his calculatedly grim face parted and showed his eyes. "Speaking of songs, I have been working on another one called 'And Eternal Was Their Doom'. Listen..." And before anyone could stop him, he raised his voice and began to sing.

_Mortal rulers by Death dethroned,  
Mere shadows from the past  
The Reaper already has reclaimed the crowns of those  
Who whisper, speak to me thus:  
In death you can't escape us._

_Those words of poison ensnare me  
They scare me, lure me to despair  
To depths unfathomable, unimaginable,  
To a fate they are eager to share;  
Inviting me to join them in oblivion._

_The darkness of the world, crawling in mud  
Quailing before the eye of Sun  
We take to the air on wings of blood  
Immortal of us can be but one.  
_

The silence prevailed once more, and this one was even more awkward than the one following Anguelen and Eldehto's squabble. At last, Grishtakh opened his mouth. "Now I'm even more depressed."

"What was that supposed to be, anyway? It didn't even rhyme properly!" asked Ghâshsag, eyes wide. "And what reaper? Was that about farmers or something?"

Burzum raised his nose high in the air, gazing nobly into the distance. "That is how it pleases me to envision Death."

"As a farmer? With shit-stained clothes and everything, riding the pigs of Udûn?"

Burzum's lofty expression was somewhat marred by a frown of irritation. "No. As a fleshless apparition wrapped in a cloak as dark as the night-sky, bearing a scythe with which he severs the spirits from the bodies of those who are no longer to live."

Ghâshsag gaped. "Only you could think of something like that, Burzum. A skeleton with a scythe... night give me strength."

"If you're quite done composing, could you possibly employ the power of your nifty little ring? It's getting light already," Grishtakh suggested before something could set Burzum off again. Looking even gloomier than before, if indeed that was possible, Burzum did so.

"Boors," was his last word on the matter at hand.

Gutbrúg finally stopped enjoying the walk silently and peered out at the dry horizon. "That looks like a house. Is that a house I see?"

"There should be houses in these parts," Anguelen said, but his tone was uncertain. "Be useful and try to remember what you saw on your way to Rivendell, Eldehto."

Eldehto looked up. "This isn't the way we rode," he muttered quickly, torn between wanting to continue sulking and wanting to be useful as had been requested of him. Unfortunately for him, the others immediately gave up without even trying to ask nicely if he could try to think harder and save them all with his expertise.

"We were supposed to ask Sharrásh! Old Sharrásh has been everywhere and knows the ways," Ghâshsag exclaimed, turning to his friend. "Do you remember anything about this part of the..."

There was a truly unsettling emptiness pulled over Sharrásh's face, swallowing the goblin's words and giving nothing back in return. His body moved forwards like a machine of war pulled by invisible strings, eyes fixed on the distance but mind in another place and time. Nothing about him suggested that he had heard anything that had been said around him.

Ghâshsag shook his head. "Off in his own little world again. Let's just ask the people in that house."

Thraknash glanced at said house and casually made sure his sword would be easy to pull out. "I hope we're not meeting another Gramun here."

"Men in this area tend to be fairly reasonable," Anguelen said. "No doubt more of them will come from other places when they're done recovering from the war, but I'd expect the older inhabitants to be... discreet."

"And if they're not?"

To this, Anguelen replied with a grin and an index finger making a slashing motion across his neck. The casual brutality made Thraknash go slightly weak in the knees and he sought balance from the very source of his weakness.

"Then let's go and see it together," he breathed, daring to hang on to Anguelen's arm. He thought he could hear Krazum complain again about the injustice of him having to watch an Orc and an Elf together in his own band, but for a while even that was lost in a moment of undiluted syrup.

* * *

Credit for Burzum's song: me at the age of 14 or 15 trying to be impressive with the new English I'd learned. I wanted to edit it a little, but on the other hand it brings some very authentic crappiness to Burzum's one-man doom metal band.


	22. Sharkû

The old man wiped his brow with a scarf of a most bacterial tint of dirty grey. It was something his wife had once given to him; though it now permanently reeked of his sweat and its original colours had faded, he could not bear the thought of parting with it. He tucked it back into his pocket and continued pulling the bucket up from the well. When he had been young, this had been considered women's work. Things had changed, however, and his daughters were too lazy to do it, anyway.

The day was turning out to be a torrid one, the unblinking eye of the sun glaring at the land below it and scorching the earth as if out of sentient malice. The man lifted the time-worn bucket over the edge of the well with a sigh. He drank gratefully.

"_Would that we had some trees to give us shade..."  
_

Taking the water with him, he turned around to go back inside. Something caught his eye in the horizon: a shade, for sure, but not one cast by a tree. It seemed to be moving. The man shivered.

* * *

"Are we there yet?"

Krazum shot an explosive glare at Grishtakh. "...you bastard. You know very well we're nowhere near Mordor, yet you keep asking. Stop rubbing our noses in the fact that we're moving at a snail's pace and shut up!"

"He's getting tetchy," Gutbrúg snickered. He whispered something to Grishtakh and Ghâshsag, making them laugh raucously.

"_What_? What are you telling them, you puddle of maggot vomit?

"Nothing," Gutbrúg said predictably. For the next ten seconds, he fought admirably hard to control his goblinish giggling. "Except that maybe you wouldn't be so tetchy if you had someone to rut like Thraknash..."

Not noticing that Krazum was beginning to twitch ominously, Ghâshsag added an observation of his own. "Isn't it remarkable how soon he stopped trying to murder us once he started having it off?"

"Yes, remarkable," parroted Grishtakh.

Before Krazum could react with cruelty and violence befitting such terrible behaviour, Anguelen suddenly appeared at their side, almost touching Burzum's dark cloud. He had a very inspired look on his face. "That makes sense, you know."

"I know," Gutbrúg said.

Anguelen nodded. "I have often wondered what it is that makes you Orcs so violent and rowdy. Isn't it frustration? Frustration over the way the world treats you, frustration over having to survive in awful conditions, frustration over having no power in your lives. I used to be frustrated for a long while too, but at least I knew how to wank, so I managed to cope."

As the others murmured in agreement, Krazum's brain nearly shut down before the might of Anguelen's logic. The Elf seriously took all the troubles of Orcs and simplified them to... no, it could not be so. No one could possibly be that stupid. Krazum's anger faded out of necessity, abandoned and forgotten.

"I see a man," Sharrásh muttered, voice raspy and quiet after a long period of silence.

"I... see." Gutbrúg shrugged. He glanced at Anguelen, pointed at his temple and rotated his finger to show what he thought of the old Orc's mental faculties.

"He's staring at me," Sharrásh croaked.

"Did you get enough sleep last night, mate?" Ghâshsag asked. He got no answer to that, although Sharrásh did seem to react to the word 'mate'.

Burzum opened the veil protecting them from the sunlight for a while, squinting at the house they were headed for. "There _is_ a man over there. I perceive that he is gaping at _all_ of us. How very impolite."

* * *

The man gasped. He saw faces in that shadow; cruel, twisted faces, glaring at him with their blazing demon-eyes. Orcs these things could not be, though Orcs they were in appearance. No Orc could command such terror as this shadow from the past was.

And then, as a shaft of light amidst a darkness frozen in time, there were others walking at the edges of the shadow; light they were of foot, and of countenance, and in their starlit faces shone a radiance that was not of the bounds of this mortal land in origin. Five there were of them, five bright flames whose brilliance was not diminished even in the light of the mighty sun. The man felt a tear slide down his face, cool and wet in the dry heat of the summer.

* * *

"Well, it's just another common mortal living in this area. We should get along with him quite well," Anguelen observed. "Shall we go down there and greet him?"

Thraknash shrugged. He was not yet weary, but decided that he wouldn't mind a bit of rest. The road to Mordor would be long and arduous, after all - certainly longer with all these breaks, but at least less arduous.

"I think he's staring at you," Gutbrúg said to Krazum. "Maybe he'd be willing to help you with your Orkish frustration."

Krazum gave him a cold look. The fact that a former underling was now being so cheeky with him showed how painfully hard he had fallen from grace. Would there ever be relief for him from this humiliation and stupidity? He certainly saw none in his future.

"See, he's all dusty and grey. Now, who does that make me think of..."

"I can imagine who and you'd better fucking keep it to yourself."

"Ah! Good old Commander Grilták! Yes, you could always imagine it's Grilták!"

Krazum's eyes narrowed. His nerves were taut, stretched to the point of snapping. "Just because you are too much of a coward to start a fight yourself, you slobbering piece of mongrel shit…"

"And if he's really _small_, why, then you should have no trouble pretending it's the good Commander!" Like Krazum said, Gutbrúg preferred provoking others to make them attack first to initiating anything himself. Fortunately for him, even armed with this knowledge Krazum was easily provoked; with a terrible growl, he was upon Gutbrúg, spewing curses in Black Speech. Gutbrúg immediately lost his footing, taking the other Orc with him as he tumbled down the small hill. Gruzlak yelped.

* * *

The shadow rippled and broke for a brief while as two shapes emerged from its protective grasp. They fell and came down the hill faster than the man had ever seen anyone do, even faster than his younger daughter when she had been chased by wasps driven mad by the chill of the coming winter.

Getting a closer look at the grappling and clawing creatures, he noticed that they _were_ Orcs after all. The bigger of them seemed absolutely furious, ready to tear the one beneath him in two. The smaller one gave him a quick punch in the face, throwing him off.

The man could see that the bigger Orc, as he stood up, was visibly shaking with wrath. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, red eyes glowing with rage that was frightening to look at. He was absolutely livid, much like his nose would soon be.

"You're almost as bad as the Uruk-hai, Krazum! You just have no sense of humour!" the smaller Orc commented and flipped the long, black hair off his shoulders. It kept getting tangled with the chains on his shoulder guards.

"I'll fucking kill you, _pushdug_..." grunted the one called Krazum, advancing on the grinning Orc. Daylight made his eyes sting, which in turn made him even angrier.

"But then you'll have no one to tease you! And all my friends will be so devastated... hang on, what's that?"

Krazum looked at his hand. A dark stain stood out on the greenish grey skin like a wet scar. He touched his nose and winced. More droplets fell on the back of his hand. "It... it's _mine_... it's coming out of _me_..." Krazum stood in shock for a while, staring at his bloody knuckles. Then his knees lost all their strength and he fell.

* * *

Thraknash closed his eyes and grimaced. "And he used to be one of our best," he muttered to Elrohir, who only happened to be standing nearby and wanted no part in what was taking place. Gruzlak rushed past them, ignoring the fact that he was not quite strong enough yet to stand in the sun without great discomfort.

"Is that water clean?" he asked, pointing at the bucket. The man nodded in silent horror, hastily handing the bucket to Gruzlak. The small Orc took it and proceeded to quickly splash Krazum's face with most of its contents and wash the blood off his hand before he woke up, blinking and cursing.

"Fucking sun, always doing this to me... bloody stinking fireball in the sky, someone ought to shoot it down and drown it in the sea..."

"Burzum! Burzum, me old mate, come down here and save my worthless arse! I'm burning!" Gutbrúg squeaked without shame, writhing on the ground as if in great pain.

And Burzum came; he looked displeased and it was apparent that he was itching to rebuke Gutbrúg (or perhaps give him a swift kick up the aforementioned worthless arse), but he slowly and regally walked down the hill and rescued his friend from the light.

"My hero," Gutbrúg cried, hallucinating.

"We can't possibly be welcome here after that," Eldehto whispered to his brother.

Anguelen, ever confident, pulled his back straight with a smirk. "I'll save the day with my Elven charm! And even if I fail, there's nothing we can do to undo what has come to pass. The way I see it, there is no way we can lose!"

"I won't even try to argue with that," Thraknash said. Gracefully accepting the arm Anguelen offered to him, he descended the hill with the Elf in the manner of a couple much more royal and sophisticated than they actually were. The man stared at them for a while, eyes full of a memory of some sort; subsequently he bent down on one knee and bowed for good measure.

"Prince of the yonder forest," he said. "I am ever at your service."

Looking at Eldehto over his shoulder, Anguelen was no longer able to contain his smug grin. "See? I'm a natural."


	23. This Land Hides Terrible Secrets

"Aa... Alfi... no, I have to ask you to say it one more time."

"Ælfwine. But if you will, please call me Alvin. That has been my name for countless years here."

"All right, Alvin it is then," agreed Ghâshsag. "So, does it mean something? My name is…"

"Ghâshsag! This well has _clean water_! I haven't seen clean water since we left that strange woman's house a little while ago!" Grishtakh squeaked, dangling over the edge of the well. His voice echoed slightly on its way down.

Frowning with severe disapproval, Burzum regarded the smaller Orc. "Get away from there. You are stretching my cloud."

Grishtakh turned his head. He bared his little fangs and raised his hand to make a rude gesture. Having thus lost his balance, he abruptly toppled and fell into the well. Almost as soon as he had disappeared into the darkness, a loud splash signalled the contact which he had made with the water within.

"Morgoth's blistering crack," Burzum moaned, in too much despair to stay his tongue from such common oaths.

Ghâshsag had the decency to look somewhat apologetic when he turned his attention back to Alvin. "Well, I don't think the water's clean anymore."

Thraknash strode over to the well, looking ready to pull Grishtakh up by his ears. Instead, he threw the bucket at the goblin. "Grab that and hold on! If you dare fall again, I'll let you drown like the cockroach you are!"

A defiant voice echoed up from the damp depths. "Then I'll spoil the water by rotting here, and then you'll have nothing to drink!"

"Don't count on it," Thraknash grunted. In less than half the time it had taken the old man, he had pulled up both Grishtakh and the bucket filled with water. The Orc stumbled over the edge, shivering. He seemed to have soaked up at least another bucketful of the cold water.

"Would you like to come inside..?" Alvin nervously enquired. No doubt he feared that the Orcs would sooner or later start wreaking havoc all over his beautiful, barren yard.

* * *

Gimli observed the strange company in silence. The Orcs were controlling themselves for a change while Anguelen conversed with Alvin. Gimli had the most unsettling feeling that something was not right; mayhaps it was all the time he had spent in this curious land, but he was getting used to the Orcs and the fact that even the old man had reacted to their presence with little more than a shrug and a welcoming smile. Something was amiss.

Suddenly Gimli frowned. It had not occurred to him before, but now that he could see Anguelen speak with someone else, he remembered things he had believed of another Elf long ago, and he was struck by an inspiration. Although the brat was in strength of spirit far from the elder Eldar that still lingered in these lands, he possessed some of their noble grace and plenty of his own glib manner. How simple it was! Gimli turned to Legolas and motioned for him to lean closer and lend Gimli his pointy ears.

"The Elf is bewitching him!" whispered the Dwarf.

Legolas raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps then you would like to ask him for a strand of his hair as well, O Lockbearer?"

Gimli looked up slowly, studying his friend for a while. "I'm beginning to think, son of Thranduil, that you are bitter because I did not ask you instead."

The only thing out of Legolas after that was a tight smile. Either he thought himself far above swallowing such obvious bait or then Gimli had somehow just stepped on another cultural toe. Elves!

"Out of curiosity," Gimli asked, unwilling to entertain his friend's strange moods, "how did your people come to inhabit this land?"

Anguelen stopped mid-sentence. For once, he seemed caught off-guard. "Well, they sort of wandered here and settled in the forest... why do you ask?"

"Oh, I merely wonder why they would live here, so far away from all the other Elves..."

"Ah." Anguelen regained his composure and mischievous look. "If you necessarily wish me to bore you to tears with a bit of family history... My family simply moved here a long time ago because they didn't get along with most of the other Elves. Before coming here, they had simply wandered here and there, looking for places where they could live in peace; that is, stay away from Morgoth, later Sauron, Men and other horrible things. Though there never were many of them, my grandfather deemed there were enough to get a kingdom started. He's just like my father, only worse. Have I mentioned that I think my father's a..."

"Yes, absolutely, thank you," said many voices simultaneously.

"Very well. Anyway, to make a long story short, they founded their hidden kingdom and decided to stay there forever or at least until the Valar might possibly let them back into Aman; at some point, I was born." Anguelen nodded sagely. There was much blinking and scratching of heads. Finally, Elrohir spoke up, a curious look on his face.

"But for what reason did they wish to be sundered from others of our kindred? My father has spoken of Eldar who yet linger in this world but are not with Lady Galadriel. He would tell me no more when I asked."

Eldehto shook his head quickly, looking at Anguelen. Of course, Anguelen paid no attention to his frantic gestures. "There were many reasons for that, one of the most important being that my grandfather is a complete fool who barely gets along with his own family. Sometimes I wish he were a mortal, just so he could grow old and senile and I could leave him in a puddle of his own drool and filth every time he starts telling me off in front of the entire town..."

This time Eldehto punched Anguelen in the ribs. "...yes, I almost forgot that I will probably never see him again! Thank you for reminding me, brother dear!" Anguelen said gratefully. "But as I was saying, there was another very important reason they wanted to be as far away from other Elves as possible. You see, the Eldar who followed my grandfather were proud and set in their ways. There had been a... dispute... and when a punishment was decided, they in turn decided they had done nothing wrong and would not accept it. So, when King _Singollo_ banned our language…"

A frown touched Elladan's face. "King Thingol?"

"Kind Lord Elrond's revered ancestor," Eldehto inserted, eyes full of childlike joy at this familiar name.

"Yes, I believe that's his name in Sindarin. There aren't many opportunities to learn that language in our town, for reasons I'm sure you understand." Anguelen coughed. "But yes. Grandfather had expected some more cooperation from someone who had also seen the Trees of Valinórë. When he had none, he felt he had been humiliated by someone older than him. Ha! I hear he used to respect Singollo for being from Cuiviénen, but afterwards he said living in the twilight had clearly fogged his mind."

After a long silence, Legolas felt that he had to ask for clarification. "This... dispute..."

Ignoring Eldehto's pleas, Anguelen leaned over in his seat and nodded. "Oh yes, that was some nasty business, the first Kinslaying. Imagine that: my high and mighty father and his higher and mightier father, spilling kindred blood just so some other overly proud Ñoldo could go get back some jewels. It's delicious. And now they're planning to sail west! Quite frankly, the only joy I glean from the possibility of them reaching the Undying Lands is the thought of its inhabitants tossing them right back into the Sea!"

Anguelen laughed long and heartily at this. His brother, however, groaned quietly. "You're horrible," he grumbled.

Anguelen's laughter was taken over by a sigh. "And you're incredibly sheltered as always, but I suppose Father wanted to spare that last spark of innocence our people still have. Don't you know why so many of the young ones of our town are so learned in the ways of mortals? Why do you think Tauremardë and I are more drawn to Orcs than our own kind?"

"I don't know and I don't want to know," Eldehto said, preparing his index fingers for stopping his ears.

"Our - and their - parents were corrupted long, long ago. They festered in their own pettiness for thousands of years, becoming increasingly foolish with no one to temper them and still thinking themselves superior to everybody else, and we, their children... we were born corrupt. Who knows, maybe with enough time we'll become mindless hill-folk who steal children from villages at night. Wouldn't that be something?"

Eldehto looked defeated. He stared at his hands tiredly, hoping that this would be the last unwanted revelation for the day. Anguelen turned his eyes to his silent audience. "So now you know, too. Have you got anything to say to that?"

No one seemed to know how to react. Someone in the crowd shifted uncomfortably. At long last, Thraknash looked at Anguelen, clearly still processing this new information. His eyes were dark with raw emotion.

"Your corrupt mind makes me so randy."

Anguelen raised an eyebrow and suddenly everything returned to his definition of normal. "Is that so?"

"And it makes me want your corrupt body more than ever. Right now, in fact."

"I'm afraid I have to decline, as much as it quite literally pains me to do so. We _are_ guests in this house, and we can't very well start humping on the floor, can we?"

Just as it seemed that Thraknash was about to start banging his head instead of Anguelen on the floor in frustration, the door opened and two maidens came in. They stopped on the threshold, stunned by the sight before them: five Elves, eight Orcs and also a Dwarf although they did not notice him.

"Father..?" intoned the fairer of the young women.

"Welcome home, my children. We have guests today!" said Alvin, beaming at the women. "May I introduce you to my daughters, my lords: this is…"

"Oh, let us do it ourselves, Father! I am Angwen," said the fair lady, giggling softly and re-arranging the flowers in her hair.

"I'm Bagronk," grunted the other sister. She looked ruffled and filthy; indeed, even her attire looked as though it had been stolen from a band of wandering Orcs.

Angwen flounced towards Legolas and the twins, apparently doing her best impersonation of an Elf-maiden to celebrate this rare occasion. "Well met, my lords. _Elen sila lumen omentielmo_!"

The twins gave each other a look and returned the greeting, carefully pronouncing each word. This seemed to truly set off Angwen, for she then repeated it to every Elf in the room, pointedly ignoring the discreet corrections of her Quenya. Anguelen tittered quietly, much to his brother's embarrassment.

Meanwhile, Bagronk had begun harassing Thraknash. As much as she seemed to like acting like snaga-orcs, she only paid attention to the Uruk. "Listen," she grunted, "you'd look fabulous if you did something to those teeth. And your skin. And eyes, probably. Other than that, you're a prime example of your magnificent kindred."

"...the fuck? We all look like this!"

"I love Orcs. I love their filthiness, their raw power, their primal lust and the fact that they aren't like those damned overly fair Elves." Bagronk glanced at her sister, upper lip stiff in a manner that wouldn't look bad on an Elf's face. She then turned back to Thraknash in order to continue her character assessment. "Frankly, if you weren't so ugly, I'd think there's nothing better than Orcs in all of Middle-earth."

Thraknash looked around the room to see if anyone was laughing at his plight. Only Anguelen was, and Thraknash thought he could tolerate it. "I... you... sod _off_! And don't concentrate on me. I'm just like any other Uruk, well, apart from the Elf thing, but other than that there's no reason to..."

"Indeed, Uruk-hai are so much better than those little snaga. Oh yes... you look more like us normal people, but you still aren't normal and boring! In fact, I must say I like the way you look, even with the pointed teeth. I suppose you could be called cute." With a final blow, a wink, Bagronk retreated to join her sister in cooing at their new point of interest: little Gruzlak, whom they also seemed to find cute, although in a different way. Krazum had to be bodily restrained from drawing his sword.

Thraknash, for his part, sat still and did not even hear the expletives exploding on their way out of the redhead's mouth. There was an expression of indescribable disgust and loathing on his face. In time, Anguelen managed to get up from the floor where his giggles had finally sent him, wiping tears off his face.

"Wherefore art thou so glum, O magnificent specimen?" he asked, snickering at his own cleverness.

"I have just been called cute. My life is over."

Anguelen smiled, quite pleasantly this time. "Endure it, for _I_ still think you beastly. In fact, you'd frighten the corruption right out of me if you didn't make me so randy."

Thraknash looked at Anguelen as wistfully as his beastly nature allowed. "Then show me..."

That was all the encouragement it took for Anguelen to finally drag his lover out of the door into the sunshine, conveniently forgetting about his previous modesty and everybody else in the world.

"Outside, Anguelen? It's still fucking hot out here, you know."

"And hotter it will get, fucking," Anguelen panted, pulling Thraknash with him until they were behind the house where a merciful shadow grew from the building.

"Well, in that case," agreed Thraknash. Just as he remembered that the oil was still in Anguelen's backpack, the Elf suddenly went stiff under him, and not in the good way.

"Ossë's drowned bollocks. What do you think you're doing?"

Looking up, Thraknash saw the sisters peeking at them from behind the corner of the house. They started, realising that they had been caught.

"I... ah... we..."

"We wanted to see you do it," Bagronk said.

"_What_?" roared Thraknash, his budding hatred of the sisters abruptly in full bloom.

"I am terribly sorry, but we found you so irresistible that we could not help ourselves! Forgive us, my lord!"

"We? I just wanted to see the Orc's cock," Bagronk corrected. "And see him rut the Elf, too."

It was too much for Thraknash, far too much. His eyes seemed to burn with a demonic fire as he got off said Elf, raised his arm and pointed one finger, trembling with pure rage, at the intruders. "_Fuck_. _Off_."

The sisters didn't seem very keen to obey the command for the sake of common decency, but the absence of sanity in Thraknash's glare made a compelling point. When the sound of their running steps first stopped at the door and then disappeared inside, Thraknash sighed, deflated, and leaned against the wall.

"Now that was unbelievable." Anguelen joined him at the wall, gazing despondently at the clear blue sky that allowed no one to hide.

"And now I don't feel like it anymore... what about you?"

Anguelen squirmed as if to comfirm his state of arousal. "Soft as a boneless kitten."

In his state of no arousal, Thraknash actually thought of it. "I feel like killing something small and defenceless now."

"I've got a better idea."

"Do tell."

"Let's climb up on the roof." Anguelen's eyebrows, for their part, started to climb towards his hairline and the familiar grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"...and?" Thraknash urged, somewhat fearing the answer.

"And let's spit on everybody who walks out of the house."

Thraknash blinked. "Why?"

"To see if they can tell it's just us or think it's going to start raining." Anguelen smiled radiantly, revealing more teeth than an invading goblin army.

In that moment of weakness, Thraknash was once more caught in the grip of that ridiculous grin and actually found himself agreeing. "That's so romantic I don't even know where to start."

Later that day, all who ventured outside would, upon returning, complain that even though there was not a shred of a cloud in the sky, they could clearly feel the first drops of rain every time they went out.


	24. Iron Maiden and Cesspool

As a note to those who read this fic during its first run, this is one chapter where I made a lot of changes to the old version. The parody was outdated and never really that funny to begin with, so I lopped it off.

* * *

Krazum frowned, and as that was not an unusual expression on him, no one really cared. He had heard something on the roof: faint sounds of walking and crawling. His ears twitched slightly, making the rings on his right ear clink against each other. Much like the sounds from the roof, no one else seemed to notice. A grim smirk played across Krazum's face. Still vigilant as ever, wasn't he.

It was easy to slip outside without anyone paying attention; the brats were busy teaching Gruzlak to swear in other Orkish dialects, and the man and his daughters were too preoccupied with fawning over the Elves. As usual, no one noticed Krazum as he went. (Or perhaps just the Dwarf, as he was lucky enough to not be pestered by Angwen and Bagronk.)

The hot wind that greeted him at the door felt almost shocking after the stale, still air of the house. Krazum shielded his eyes and stepped cautiously into the sunlight. Almost immediately he heard something land next to his boot with a blunt sound.

"I should have known..." he muttered, looking up. He easily recognised the source of the deranged giggling that followed his statement. Apparently, the Elf had made it his main goal in life to corrupt Thraknash beyond correction.

"I can't believe I missed... move a little to the right, Krazum, will you?" said the Uruk.

Krazum sighed. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Being a couple of little bastards," snickered Anguelen. "Say, would you mind bringing us some water? It's quite hot up here and we've almost used up all of our spit."

"Get it yourself," Krazum snapped. He went back in, already exhausted by the sunshine. It would be some time before he regained enough of his strength to better withstand the day again.

"Where were you?" asked Gimli quite unexpectedly. His eyes were piercing and full of mistrust.

"Taking a leak." Krazum was not quite sure why he even bothered to lie; perhaps it simply came naturally to him. Even when he meant to tell the truth, his memory often chose paths of its own and made him an inadvertent liar, especially when he tried to educate Gruzlak about the ways and history of Orcs and the Dark Lord. He flopped back into the seat he had managed to reserve for himself, seething at the Dwarf for ruining this moment of harmless irritation with a moment of uncomfortable self-examination.

There was some rustling on the roof which Krazum suspected no one else was listening to, and after a few minutes the pair of gleeful fuckwits who clearly deserved each other came back inside and sat down. Judging by their refreshed countenances, they had already helped themselves to Alvin's water. Angwen's face, for its part, lit up at the sight of Anguelen. Bagronk's face probably did the same as she saw Thraknash, but it was difficult to tell with all the filth.

"If it is not too intrusive of me to ask this, how did you meet your love, my lord?" Angwen asked sweetly.

"That was a good one. I tried to seduce his chief and half of his band when they caught me," Anguelen said, preparing to launch into full storytelling mode. "It was a beautiful morning - well, less so for the Orcs, I suppose - and I was very excited."

Krazum snorted in a way that could be taken to mean many things.

"I did my best to convince the chief that I had but good intentions concerning him and his magnificent bod... err... well, it really _was_ just his body I was after... but he shied away from my touch and shunned me because I'm an Elf. I then tried my luck with the Orcs who came to seize me, but they didn't like me, either. To top it all off, the chief sent me away although I'm sure he could clearly see I was in great need."

"And then my lord met with one who returned his affections. My heart sings with happiness when the races of this radiant world willingly come together," Angwen chirped.

Anguelen looked at her, his expression completely neutral. "I quite agree."

"If all the world were bathed in the glow of such love, then swiftly would we fill all gaps of darkness with shafts of light," continued Angwen, a dreamy look in her eyes. "Is that not the way of the Elfs, to mend with love that which has been marred by hate?"

"Elves," Anguelen corrected, "and I wouldn't say so. Have you heard any tales of our..."

Angwen clasped her hands at her heart, eyes gazing longingly into some great unknown utopia. "Tales have I heard indeed, tales of a glorious people under the newborn stars, in the unblemished forests. With naught but beauty must your life be filled, my lord. Would that we had trees here, for I desire to take leaves of them and fashion myself ears like yours."

For a moment Anguelen could only stare at the woman. There was a touch of admiration in his astonishment. "I must say you might really enjoy our village," he admitted after a while. "I've never before heard such rubbish from anyone who wasn't born in Aman."

"You didn't have to listen to that 'sorcerer' in the woods," Thraknash inserted with a shudder.

"Ah, that's right. I really must fill that gap of darkness of yours with my shaft of light later." Anguelen turned back to Angwen. "However, let me correct you a little there - if you remember our earlier discussion, my family was banned from the West because they sort of went and slaughtered other Elves for not giving them some boats. That's not very loving, don't you think?"

Angwen's eyes shone with compassion. "I'm sure they had their reasons."

This time Anguelen very nearly remained speechless. "Well, I hope the Valar have come to think of it that way," he finally said.

"You seem fascinated by our kind, as well as... somewhat knowledgeable of our ways," Legolas noted with a barely hidden edge to his voice. "May I ask how you see our lives?"

"It must be like walking on starlight, my lord."

The twins shared a look. "Yet our kind has been burdened with much sorrow," Elladan said. "Many tales tell of tragedy, many songs sing of agony."

Angwen immediately lay a hand on his cheek, oblivious to the vaguely uncomfortable look this put on his face. "Ah, but such beauty! Such beauty is there in your suffering. And I would take great joy in lightening the burden of your hearts."

"Slaying _glamhoth_ suffices for us, I assure you," Elrohir muttered, eyeing the woman with suspicion.

"And surely your many blessings, such as eternal youth and fairness..."

"Ah, about that," Anguelen said loudly enough to startle some of the Orcs and his own brother. "See, you enjoy living on your little farm, don't you? Yes. Now imagine living on it for three hundred and fifteen years because your father won't let you leave under your own power," he went on, rudely ignoring the groans this provoked in those who knew what was coming. "And the only way out every now and then is to be captured by the enemy who comes more and more seldom. Imagine that. Three hundred and fifteen years." Seeing that he had Angwen's willing attention as well as the reluctant attention of his travelling party, he nodded bitterly. "Imagine hearing the voice of Ulmo in every little stream of water and knowing your time in this beautiful mortal world is coming to an end, and imagine never being able to see its splendour because your father will not let you go. Eternal youth? Eternal fairness? For what? For whom?"

After a moment of stunned silence, Legolas raised his eyebrows as though he were impressed that Anguelen had not once mentioned Orc dick during his rant. "I wondered if I should sing her some laments of my people, but perhaps that will do."

"I'll tell you what'll do, pretty boy," said Bagronk at last, having followed the conversation with an increasingly darkening expression. "Admitting that you Elves aren't as great as you think and that it's actually Orcs we should all look up to. Wonderful, brutish, filthy Orcs with..."

"Are you sure it's not simply that you like the idea of never bathing?" Grishtakh asked. He alone was interested in Bagronk's answer, and he alone was ignored by her.

"...their great dirty dicks, I'm sure the redhead agrees although he's a pretty boy," she continued. "And who can be bothered with laments and tragedies? Orcs don't have to."

Krazum, the redhead who wasn't also a pretty boy, twitched and stood up. "Are you saying we have it easy or something? Is that it?"

"Sit down, Krazum," Thraknash said.

"You shut up!" Quickly turning off the murderous glare ignited exclusively for the Uruk, Krazum glowered at Bagronk. "Do you think it's fun to be the pincushion of the world and slowly lose every safe haven your people had? Is that what you're saying? And now our Dark Lord, our only shield against the world, is gone too. Shit, our blessing is that we _don't_ have long before someone slaughters us. Who the fuck wants to live like this?"

"I might add that some of us considered living under the Dark Lord a shitty way to live as well," Thraknash helped.

"And then we have these people always gobbing off," continued Krazum. "Uruk shite. You bastards always have it better than us lowly slave-folks, yet you've got no loyalty to those who treat you like princes. Where were you when Lugbúrz fell? Whinging at Moglurz, who is actually a good old-fashioned Orc, about having to do some battle for once, no doubt."

"I got a bleeding arrow in my leg in the war, I did! You're the one who healed the wound!"

Krazum's eyes were unfocused for a moment as he unearthed the memory from the far wastelands of his mind. "I was, wasn't I? There's yet another decision to regret on my way to the grave."

"Besides, being Uruk-hai didn't stop us from getting whipped."

"Ohh that's right, they made up for whipping you less than us snaga by giving you better food and armour. I'm truly glad you eventually had some justice there."

All this Bagronk observed with a satisfied grin on her face. "This is almost perfect. Now if only all of you weren't _quite_ so ugly..."

Krazum's eyes widened at the blasphemy. "All! Are you including Gruzlak in that? You'd better not do that. I'll seriously have to hurt you if you call Gruzlak ugly."

"Of all the strange obsessions you've had so far, Krazum..."

"Wait, wait," Anguelen interrupted his lover. The mischievous gleam came back to his eyes. "I can see you two sisters take great interest in the wonderful and ancient civilisations of Elves and Orcs. Perhaps you would like to learn more?" Two hopeful pairs of eyes turned to him and he smiled. "Well then, join us on our journey. You will learn much of the ways of both Orcs and Elves."

This time quite a few more pairs of eyes turned to Anguelen with such strength of feeling that it was a miracle the young Elf did not combust under it. He rather seemed to gain hideous strength of his own from it. Krazum was so upset that he finally sat down, massaging his temples.

"On your journey?" Angwen asked. The lilting Elf-accent she had made up for herself was gone.

"I see you have no mounts," Bagronk added. Her voice was missing its gruff Orkish tone.

Anguelen nodded maniacally. "Oh heavens no, one stays much fitter using one's own feet for walking. The only mounting here is done between Thraknash and I, and even that is a rare thing as we travel with such unapologetic bastards. So what say you?"

Angwen blinked rapidly, sweating. "Ah yes, the great outdoors. Walking and being at the mercy of the weather, nothing builds character like it."

Bagronk squeezed her hands together in her lap. "No outhouses as far as the eye can see, just the way marauding Orcs would do it. I can imagine nothing better."

"Great! Then we'll leave as soon as..."

"But," Angwen tried, "but our ailing old father..."

"I'm sure he would need our helping hands on the farm," Bagronk agreed, voice trembling.

This seemed to positively break Anguelen's heart. "Will you not come with us after all? Many things of splendour would you see, although you would have to walk several days for each one."

"Well... well..."

"But our father..."

"Need you truly their help, my good man?" Anguelen asked, turning to old Alvin who seemed to find great enjoyment in simply sitting back and watching other people talk.

"I must say I do," he admitted, "and it warms my old heart that they so readily offer it. I knew this day would come if only I waited long enough."

This seemed to whip Anguelen into a frenzy of emotion. "You prince among men," he cried, blinking back tears, "wrong have I been to so blithely rob your daughters from you, when already you spend your days in great loneliness in this place. I beg you, continue to be a father to these children of yours."

"Master Elf, I thank you," said Alvin.

"Master... Man? You are welcome," replied Anguelen. "If another thing you would ask of us, then please do so."

"You know," Alvin started, "there is something I should very much like to see; something my daughters will not do."

Weary eyes looked at him with dread. This man was starting to seem as awful as Anguelen.

"Would you do an old man a favour and have a good fight while I watch and recall the times I was still young and virile enough to do the same?"

Many a puzzled glance was exchanged between the Orcs.

"I've got money," Alvin said, brandishing a small pouch that made a most appealing sound of metal clinking against more metal.

With a greedy yell, Gutbrúg attacked Krazum. The Mordor-Orc yelped and threw him to the floor with astonishing ease. Assisted by a wildly hissing Gruzlak, he counter-attacked Gutbrúg and in doing so managed to knock Ghâshsag over. This inspired Sharrásh to use Burzum, despite his protests, as a live ram with which to strike Krazum down. Any sour taste this left in Burzum's mouth was soon replaced by the taste of Gutbrúg's blood as he bit his old friend in the shoulder for starting it. And since Anguelen liked shiny things just as much as any Orc or Elf, he was soon on the floor with them, competing for the right to possess Alvin's money. A single Sindarin curse and even a rarely heard Khuzdul oath exploded in the air as the Elves left the house with Gimli, quickly followed by a scandalised Eldehto. All in all, the day ended in utter chaos, but no one that stayed inside complained - not even Krazum, who seemed calmer after some bloodless combat. When night fell, even those Orcs who had been content to simply watch were oddly happy as they went to sleep.


	25. Brođor min

"...I mean, I wouldn't mind if you do it again. In fact, _please_ do it again."

Burzum frowned at Gutbrúg. "I will not. You are beginning to annoy me."

"Pleeeease."

"No! It was meant as revenge, not reward, and moreover your coat tastes funny. My mouth feels impure."

"I'll take it off," Gutbrúg offered and started to remove his coat, much to Krazum's dismay - after all, he'd had to tend to the bite wound on Gutbrúg's shoulder, and he didn't much like the idea of doing it all over again.

"Get someone else to bite you," Thraknash said, bristling. "Krazum's teeth are sharper, anyway."

Grinning like an Orc gone insane, Gutbrúg stalked towards the poor healer. Krazum grimaced, getting ready to fight him off in case he brought his flesh anywhere near his teeth.

All this Eldehto observed from his hiding place behind the well.

The others were looking for comfortable places to sleep; Gimli, Legolas and the twins went back in the small, and more importantly, once again quiet house while Ghâshsag and Grishtakh had decided to sleep in the even smaller barn, but the rest of the travellers had agreed that only wimps would decline to sleep outside under the stars as a taunt to their light. Eldehto sighed. Unfortunately, he was quite a wimp for an Elf and would have loved a bed and a soft blanket. However, there was no room left in the house (unless he would have liked to sleep sitting, which he didn't), and he couldn't even go to Anguelen for warmth and security.

He wasn't even sure what had made them start the fight. Anguelen had won some money in the brawl, and he had commented on it... Eldehto frowned. He recalled saying something about their father never approving of his first son getting involved in such barbarism as if he were one of those filthy loiterers he kept bringing home.

But that was not what had made Anguelen so angry. Had it been Eldehto's eventual remark about him becoming so orkish that his pretty face was the only thing separating him from their fell race? No, it couldn't have been; after all, he had said it many times before. Perhaps it was the string of unflattering adjectives he had used to describe his brother's beloved Orcs. He had somehow been wise enough to use High Speech while slandering them, which had saved him from a severe beating at their clawed hands. However, it hadn't stopped Anguelen from giving him a blow on his left arm like a strike from Aulë's hammer.

Eldehto rubbed the aching limb sullenly. Well, at least Anguelen hadn't hit him in the face. He suspected that by tomorrow, he would have a _huge_ bruise; his arm was certainly sore enough. Sometimes Anguelen just forgot how hard he could hit. He wouldn't have hurt his own brother like that on purpose, would he? Eldehto poked at the throbbing bruise gingerly, and winced as if he had burned his own flesh. He sniffled and peeked at his brother again. There he was, chatting about something inane with his lover. Eldehto gagged at the word. _Lover_. It sounded so tasteless, so fleshy. What did Anguelen see in that brutal monster, anyway? His taste just got worse and worse with each passing year.

Damn. Anguelen looked so happy, unlike his lugubrious brother. Eldehto's heart was positively breaking, and he had to stop looking. There he was, all alone in the cold world - and his brother, his great, magnificent brother, happily ignorant of his pain. Eldehto's mind was flooded by a tidal wave of pity. Pity for himself, that is.

"_I'll just lie here and die of a broken heart, then,"_ he thought bitterly and leaned against the well once more, longing for the loveless embrace of death that was not meant for his kind. He felt unbelievably miserable. "_And when I'm dead, _then _he'll realise how much I cared for him. And Father and Mother will be broken-hearted as well, and they will all mourn me..."  
_

Where there was Misery, there was also Darkness. It breathed heavily, revelling in the young Elf's sorrow. "Oh, how grief becomes you," Darkness said.

Eldehto yelped, finally noticing that Burzum was crouching next to him. He had been so immersed in wallowing in his agony that the entire world had sort of coiled into one huge, throbbing yarnball of woe; but now he was more alert, and he slowly began to back away from the cold-eyed demon before him.

Such attempts were of no avail, of course, as Burzum lazily leaned forward and trapped Eldehto against the well by simply throwing his arm over the Elf's squirming waist. The brat immediately stopped wriggling to avoid touching him. Or perhaps he was just so frightened he couldn't move. Either way, Burzum was pleased that he wasn't trying to escape anymore.

"Devil of Morgoth," Eldehto whispered to Burzum's infinite delight. "U-unhand me..."

Burzum quivered with feelings Eldehto was probably better off not recognising. "You speak so bravely, yet the pounding of your heart betrays your fear..."

"C-can you hear it?"

"I can practically smell your every thought," Burzum whispered, grinning wickedly. "Fright, apprehension, terror... hmm... fear, consternation, horror, trepidation and dread. That's quite impressive... much of your sadness is gone now, though..."

Eldehto pressed his back flat against the well, glaring. "My fear would go away as well if you left me alone, vile animal."

"You burn me," Burzum breathed, making Eldehto abandon his defiance for another nervous twitch. "You are not quite like any other Immortal I have seen - there is Darkness inherent in you, inheritance of the Kinslayers, so close to the surface that it is as though I could just - touch it..."

Eldehto barely suppressed a whimper as Burzum reached out to him. He tried to raise his voice to call for help. "Ah... um, Anguelen..?"

"You are like a star out of the darkling firmament; your skin is as white as exposed bone, your eyes the blue of the lips of the drowned," Burzum intoned, stroking the skull-pale skin.

It was all Eldehto could do to not start shaking like a leaf in a thunderstorm, and to ease some of his stress, he chose to do something unreasonable: he bit his lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

"Oh _fuck_," he hissed, touching his mangled lip. It fucking _hurt_. What had he been thinking, biting his own lip like that? He had probably looked really stupid too, going to all the trouble of exposing his teeth, fitting them around the small mound of flesh and intentionally grinding them together so hard that they pierced the sensitive skin. He felt like a complete idiot as he looked up at Burzum and - well, why did he care what the bloody Orc thought of him?

The bloody Orc in question stared at the bloody lip. It didn't seem as though he was thinking scornful thoughts about Eldehto at all. In fact, he looked quite swoony as he brushed the pallid hand off the wounded mouth and replaced it with his own lips.

Eldehto went so perfectly still with shock that he was sure even his heart had stopped beating. Then he felt Burzum lick the wound, and he flushed such a furious shade of red that there was no doubt of the fact that his heart was still very much alive and pumping blood through his veins. Especially to his face.

"_Aaargh! Now he's tasted blood, _my _blood! Nothing's going to stop him now!"  
_

Burzum abruptly stopped tonguing him and drew his head back, eyes hazy. Eldehto took this as a sign that the taste of his blood pleased that monster and he would soon sink his cruel teeth into his pale throat to get more. Panic suddenly restored the Elf's strength; putting his hands on bony shoulders, he pushed himself and the Orc off the ground as hard as he could. To his disappointment, Burzum wasn't even shocked as his back hit the ground, but the deranged look in his eyes only intensified as Eldehto ended up straddling him. He looked down at the Orc, trying to think of something intimidating to say, such as "Eldehto son of Eldatur will never end up as some foul Orc's meal!" or "Nyah nyah nyah!". However, he still felt a bit confused and intimidated himself, so he just quickly stood up and ran.

Burzum lay there awhile, athirst still for another touch. He brought his fingers to his lips and trembled. The metallic taste still lingered in his mouth. "Ohh, Elfling," he said quietly with a shudder. Then he looked around to make sure no one had seen him do so, got up and skulked back to his friends with the usual scowl pasted on his grim face.

Meanwhile, Eldehto had reached the house and was busy climbing onto the roof, because there was obviously no way he could have been trapped up there had Burzum decided to follow him. He was somewhat dismayed to find his brother up there again as he would have rather faced a hundred burzums instead of an angry Anguelen. Fortunately, Anguelen didn't seem angry anymore.

"What are you doing?"

Anguelen pointed up. There, in the expanse of the evening sky, sailed the light of the last Silmaril borne by the exalted captain of Vingilot, or Wingilótë as their parents archaically insisted on calling it. "Do you ever think what it would be like if _our_ father were a star in the sky like Eärendil?"

"Not really," Eldehto admitted.

"Do you ever think much of anything?"

"Not re... shut up!"

Anguelen chuckled at his immense wit for a bit. "I'm amused by the thought of him flying up there and freezing his bollocks off."

Eldehto frowned a little, but remembered that his brother might still be irritable and so refrained from defending his father. He lay down as well. "I'm in a bit of trouble." When Anguelen simply looked at him with neither malicious joy nor sympathy, Eldehto thought it would be safe enough to continue. "It's Burzum again."

"What's he done now?"

"Well... he started saying weird things again and scared me," Eldehto started. He squirmed a little. "I bit my lip accidentally and he - well, he lapped the blood off and kept licking the inside of my mouth. I thought he would bite my head off to get to the rest of my blood, that mad beast..."

Anguelen stared at him, eyes wide. Then he looked at the sky again, as if seeking an answer. Subsequently he burst into uproarious laughter.

"Why can't you ever take me seriously?" Eldehto snapped. "Let's see you laugh when he murders me!"

"I don't think he will," Anguelen wheezed, wiping his eyes. "You are incredibly naive, you know. Or simply simple. I can't decide which."

"Stop making fun of me and tell me what I should do about him!"

"Grab him by the balls and twist your wrist. That'll teach him."

"But that's immoral!" Eldehto cried.

"Don't ask me, then," Anguelen said, greatly amused. "You're sillier than a bag of cats sometimes."

Eldehto struggled with the mental image. "Now that didn't make much sense."

"Well, you've never had a cat." Anguelen turned his gaze back to the stars. "Eärendil, though..." he said once more, looking as though he was actually using his brain for something. "One of the twins said that their father told them of us. Only a few in Rivendell know of us, I think." He paused. "No wonder my head hurts."

Following his brother's bad example, Eldehto did some thinking as well. "If their father told them of our town, and only few in Rivendell know of us..." He sat up, staring down at his brother with wide eyes. "Brother, they must be Lord Elrond's sons!"

Anguelen considered this. "Damnation," he said.

"But... they are not kind like Lord Elrond. Or kind like Daddy."

"There you go again," Anguelen sighed. "Daddy is a kinslayer."

"No he's not," Eldehto protested.

"Bloody well is."

"Bloody well isn't! It's not Daddy who slew Teleri in Alqualondë."

Anguelen rubbed his forehead. "Well, fine, his father did, and it's not as though Father condemned him for that. It doesn't surprise me that Valar would ban them both from the West, it's not as though they are known for being fair and rational."

It took Eldehto some time to decide whether he should scold his brother for speaking blatant untruths about the Valar or simply set him straight with his superior knowledge. However, his arm still hurt and he was forced to settle for a pathetic taunt. "You don't know everything after all."

"I never said I do, did I?"

That was certainly true, Eldehto had to admit. With a shrug, he lay down again and watched the stars with his brother in a rare moment of peace and quiet between them. It was fortunate that before anything could happen to break that peace, it was interrupted by an outside source of heavy boots grinding against the dry earth.

"Aren't you done watching the sky already?" asked Thraknash. The Elves could not see him, but there was no mistaking that rumbling voice. "What do you see there, anyway?"

Anguelen grinned and sat up. Silently as a squirrel, he crept to the edge of the roof and looked down. "Why, the stars."

As much as Eldehto tried, he could not hear all that Thraknash said to that, although he suspected it included the bit "got something better for you to look at right here". Anguelen laughed in a way that proved to him he was at least right about that part.

"I guess I'd better come down, then," Anguelen said, leaping off the roof. Eldehto grimaced, knowing very well that _he_ would not be able to do something amazing like that. He just had to get back down using the safer, if less exciting, way. He did so, cursing his bad luck; he would have liked to talk with Anguelen a little longer. Now he would just have to wait until they had another private moment together. In other words, a snowball's dream of survival in the Crack of Doom would have a better chance of coming true.

"Since it looks like Thraknash and I aren't going to get a chance to shag tonight, I suppose it'll be all right if you sleep with us. You know, so you won't have to be afraid of that terribly amoro... uh, terrible Burzum," Anguelen said, grinning.

"Oh... all right." Eldehto smiled. Things were looking up already! His brother was so smart.

"Just don't even think about talking shit about Orcs again."

Eldehto nodded nervously. After listening to Burzum, he was not quite sure that Orcs wouldn't somehow be able to smell that kind of thought, too. He followed Thraknash and Anguelen to their little encampment, glancing around furtively for a glimpse of the pair of yellow eyes that seemed to follow his every movement before flickering away. He couldn't see Burzum anywhere, and the only pair of eyes that made him a little apprehensive belonged to Krazum, who glared at him as if the Elf's very presence insulted him. However, the redhead was soon distracted by Gruzlak, and his silent hostility melted away for the time being. Relaxed, Eldehto lay down and forgot about his little encounter with Burzum.

In his dread solitude behind the barn, Burzum already dreamed of the next one.


	26. So Long, Fare Thee Well

Thraknash was feeling grumpy. He had the perfect justification for his negative disposition: it was a sunny morning, he hadn't eaten anything yet and he was uncomfortably horny. Glancing longingly at Anguelen, he wondered if he would eventually have to slay all the other members of their unholy fellowship to finally get a chance to just fucking grind him without any interruptions. He imagined the pleased grunts he knew Anguelen would make, his short but sharp nails digging into his flesh in an attempt to pull him even closer, even deeper - and regretted it immediately. Now he was feeling _incredibly_ horny. Thraknash cursed.

Anguelen turned to look at him. His selective Elven perceptiveness seemed to realise immediately what Thraknash was thinking, for he smiled somewhat ruefully and shook his head, pointing at some of the Orcs who had already started to eat their breakfast. They sat comfortably in the wan fog of Burzum's ring, oblivious to the positively malevolent glare Thraknash sent their way for existing. He looked at Anguelen again extra pleadingly, hoping the Elf would have mercy on him and just get over his fear of being seen fucking or whatever it was that prevented him from agreeing to have a little fun before leaving for Mordor again. Thraknash didn't exactly enjoy the thought of being ogled when he was with Anguelen either, but he had long ago learned to think of privacy as a sort of luxury, something he had never had much of but which felt quite nice when he could get it. Unfortunately, since he and Anguelen had had relatively much privacy before they had been suddenly laden with the companionship of the other Orcs and those damned strangers, he had quickly learned to dislike being surrounded by his idiotic fellow Orcs all the time. After all, it was not as though _he_ had any glaring character flaws.

"Hey, that's a new expression on you, he he," said Grishtakh, grinning sheepishly. He stood in the shadow of the house, wringing his hands in a way that made the back of Thraknash's brain itch. "Umm, could you come over here? I, I have something to ask."

Thraknash walked over to him slowly, doing his best to ward off the coming dread. "What?"

"Could we leave as soon as possible? Preferably before breakfast?"

Uruk-hai were made for leading, for succeeding. It came to them naturally, Thraknash thought. So how was it that he constantly failed to do so? "...why?"

"Well, first promise you won't hurt me."

"I will hurt you if you waste my time, and that's a promise. Out with it."

"Oh. Ah... you see, Ghâshsag and I slept in the barn last night. Yes. Well, I was just slowly waking up in the early morning when I smelled something funny and... well, when I turned to look..."

Thraknash clenched his fists for fear that a more relaxed pose would somehow allow him to collapse. Like herding cats. It was exactly like herding cats. The only difference, of course, was that one actually learned to like the cats after a while. "This had better not be what I think it is. Is this what I think it is?"

"Umm, uh, you can rest assured that the damage was minimal and... I... please don't kill him. He's helping me carry the secret stash of beer we got from Dûmrakh."

"The _what_? No, never mind that now. We're going to the barn now - I assume the little worm is still in there?"

"Well, he was afraid to come out..." Grishtakh yelped as Thraknash grabbed his wrist and yanked him out of the shadow.

"As he bloody well should be!" the Uruk roared and headed for the barn, dragging Grishtakh behind him while ignoring the small Orc's shrieks to the best of his ability.

The lighting in the barn was dim, consisting only of what little sunlight came through a small window near the ceiling, and Thraknash had to blink a couple of times before his eyes got used to it. When they did, he turned them to the small form of Ghâshsag, shuffling his feet nervously in a corner full of hay.

Thraknash stalked to him, dropping Grishtakh on the floor. The goblin sat awhile in a daze, but soon got back to his feet and followed Thraknash in a perhaps futile attempt to prevent the slaying of his friend.

"I swear I had it under control," were Ghâshsag's unfortunate first words to Thraknash.

"Horseshit! How much damage have you done this time?"

"J-just singed a little bit of hay over there."

Thraknash looked at the blackened pile of hay Ghâshsag had been trying to hide behind his back. It was not even smouldering anymore, so he just stomped on it a little and threw some fresh hay on it. Then he grabbed Ghâshsag by a strap of leather sticking out from under his armour near his neck and lifted him as though he weighed nothing. He was just about to get outside with the smaller Orcs when he heard a strange sound.

There was a swarm of mallards sitting still and judgementally upon the heaps of hay. Some of them quacked with some irritation, clearly waiting for the intruders to get the hell out of their barn. Thraknash stared at them for a while, mind quivering.

"I don't even want to know," he finally grunted and stepped outside, still carrying Ghâshsag. Grishtakh followed them with trepidation, hesitating to expose himself to the sunlight.

* * *

Legolas stretched lightly, enjoying the warmth. He had no idea why the Orcs were all standing around staring at the barn, and he suspected that he would not like the reason when he would inevitably find out what it was. And when he saw Thraknash come out of the small building, holding Ghâshsag several inches above the ground with Grishtakh snivelling behind him, he was filled by a pessimism of some sort.

Thraknash stopped in front of Burzum, but his glower swept over all those standing in the yard with him. The Orc in his grasp hung limply, afraid to move.

"Which one of you fuckers gave Ghâshsag something with which to make fire?"

He could hear an Elven voice grumble at the rude word; Burzum looked at Gutbrúg and they both shrugged; Krazum stared in horror as Gruzlak stepped forward, shaking a little but looking Thraknash in the eye.

"I gave my tinderbox to him yesterday so he could light the campfire for Burzum and forgot to ask it back," he said bravely, although he did not face Thraknash without fear.

Krazum put his hand on Gruzlak's shoulder, as if believing such a small gesture could save him from the Uruk's wrath once it was aroused. But now something unexpected happened: Thraknash glared at Gruzlak until he quailed, but he did not slay him. After a while he sighed and put Ghâshsag down.

"Give it back to him."

Ghâshsag complied immediately, although his hands shook so badly that he almost dropped the box. With a final sour glance, Thraknash turned and left in search of Anguelen, a quest that was destined to end soon as there were not many places Anguelen could have gone. Ghâshsag looked at him until he disappeared in the house... and finally collapsed.

"Aaahh. I t-thought this would be it..." he stuttered, exhausted by his fear and the daylight.

"I suppose you need help getting up," Gutbrúg observed.

"Just let me lie here a moment. Oh Gorthaur... I need to get somewhere dark... my legs feel soft..."

"How come he didn't smash your skull and make meat cakes out of your brain? He's a bloody Uruk, after all. Is it just because you're small?" Gutbrúg asked the tiny Orc, filled with amazement. Gruzlak shrugged, equally confused, but Krazum smirked and patted his still shaking shoulder.

"He knows that killing someone so small and weak would be below even such remorseless bastards as old Gorakh. That, or then Gruzlak's just too adorable to kill." Krazum smiled crookedly before suddenly frowning at the other Orcs. "And no remarks on that. I don't find the rest of you adorable at all."

The door was opened again and Anguelen came out with Thraknash, closely followed by old Alvin.

"Although my heart is heavy with grief as you now leave us, I wish you luck on your journey," the old man said.

"And I thank you for supporting us, Ælfwine..."

"Must you go, my lords? I grieve at your passing and lament your absence..." Angwen intoned, her sudden appearance making Elladan twitch for some reason. Her sister was sad as well, but did her best to hide it.

"Hush, my child," Alvin said. He looked at Anguelen one last time. "Much as I fear that this is the last time I may see one of the Eldar, or an immortal one at all, I also feel joy now that I know you have a great future ahead of you." He paused to moisten his cracked lips. "I regret that I could not avail your quest, but it is my hope that _he_ will be able to show you the right road out of this land."

Anguelen looked quite impressed indeed; rarely were his schemes so well supported. "As it is mine, you know. But I do appreciate all that you have done for us."

Alvin smiled. "Hearing that makes this old man glad. _Wes ðu hál, æðelind_!"

"Uh, be thou hale as well, or something."

"Yea, hale and hearty," added Gutbrúg, who chose that moment to make it clear that he was close and listening.

"O wilt thou not speak to me afore thou leavest?" Angwen pronounced forcefully, throwing herself at Legolas and amusing the hell out of Gimli.

"Very well," Legolas replied in a slightly impatient tone, sidestepping just as the mad woman was about to slam her body against his. "In this hour of our parting, the world seems fairer than ever. Fare thee well!"

Strangely enough, Alvin did not seem offended that his daughter was thus insulted; perhaps he was too engrossed in fawning over the majesty of the Eldar, himself. (This act, incidentally, spared his old eyes from seeing the saucy wink the daughter who did not worship Elves made at the retreating Orcs.) He nodded at his guests, knowing that no matter how many years he still had left in Arda, they would be ever aglow with warmth now that he had been touched by such radiance.

"What a guy!" Gutbrúg said before they left, rolling his eyes.

"Yesss," Sharrásh replied, making a silent promise to himself to stop talking so damn much. "I saw his underwear last night when I walked past his window."

No one knew how to react to that with anything other than a painfully awkward silence, so the Orcs quickly started to make a lot of meaningless noise by talking shit about things they didn't really understand. Trying to filter it all out, Thraknash mused upon the fact that whoever "_he_" was, he would be able to hear them hours before they even came close to his abode.

* * *

"Oh, but..." Anguelen said, stopping abruptly. "Oh."

Thraknash looked at him, perplexed. "What is it?"

"There was hay in the barn," Anguelen explained, looking over his shoulder. "We missed our chance to roll in it."

The Orcs looked back as well at the now very distant buildings. They then looked at Anguelen, eyes filled with a silent plea. Elrohir's fingers twitched upon the handle of his blade. Fortuitously, Sharrásh still had not run out of words and for once used his powers of speech for a good purpose.

"Not worth it, I've tried it before," he said. "Hay is sharp."

Anguelen pondered this for a while and shrugged. "It is, isn't it. Well then, let's move on."

* * *

Gratuitous reference: the chapter title has been nicked and slightly altered from a Sound of Music song. I don't know, I just thought the chapter itself wasn't disturbing enough.


	27. Tarrying on the Road

Only ten old chapters left after this... I should start working on the new ones soon or my update schedule will become even slower than it is now.

* * *

"_This cannot go on,"_ thought Anguelen, and his brow creased as though he actually pondered profound matters. He barely acknowledged the presence of his companions, for his mind was far gone having taken upon itself the task of solving his burning dilemma. "_I'd like to enjoy him while I still have him, but these other fools are taking away our precious time together. On the other hand, I happen to like 'these other fools' as well, even though those strangers do not. I wonder how long they could refrain from slaying each other if Thraknash and I were to leave them alone for a while?"  
_

In this manner he argued with himself, for all his life he had loved to pretend that his little problems actually meant something in the grand scheme of things. And in his heart of hearts, he knew that to attempt to adjust his priorities - to actually forgo his satisfaction in order to ensure the safety of his new comrades - was an exercise in futility. He stopped walking.

"Let us stop here for a while, shall we?"

Grishtakh sputtered. "But we only just left! We're not tired yet..."

"Are you disobeying me?" Anguelen interrupted.

For a moment, Grishtakh considered Anguelen's far larger build and willingness to use his greater strength. "...no."

"Then we stop here," concluded Anguelen, surveying his surroundings while ignoring Gutbrúg's stinging remark about sheep to Grishtakh. There was a hill of some sort near them; it was just like all the other little depressing mounds of earth outside his native forest, but it couldn't have been placed more conveniently. "Thraknash, could you go behind that hill over there? I'll follow you in a moment."

"What are you up to now?" Thraknash asked warily.

"Nothing decent, I can promise." With a suspicious look on his face, Thraknash finally left, leaving Anguelen to deal with their rather surprised and somewhat annoyed companions. "Now, then. As you all know, your presence has been something of a hindrance to this little relationship I'm having with Thraknash - or should I say, the carnal side of it. But now I am going to rectify that, and I trust that you won't give us any trouble this time."

"And you would command us to stay here and wait while you sate your needs with him?" Legolas asked, at the end of his tether. "Who are you to give us orders?"

"Don't take it as some sort of personal affront," Anguelen advised. "I merely ask you to give us some time together, for fuck's sake. I bet _you_ have never been in lust, seeing as you're so bloody understanding about this." Not waiting for the fuming Legolas to answer, Anguelen coughed and struck a pompous pose. "Well then! Just to make sure you stay here, I'll say this: Don't you fucking dare come over there while we're still there. And I'll even translate it to those of you who are not so familiar with the dialect of this land: Whosoever showeth up where we would know each other, him shall I cut up into really small pieces. That'll be all." With that, he turned on his heels and went to meet Thraknash.

* * *

Thraknash frowned as he tried to hear what Anguelen was saying to the others. He had had some time to guess why it was that the Elf wanted to meet him behind the hill, and he was rather impatient to find out if his guess was correct.

"I hope you weren't bored, waiting for me all alone..." Anguelen murmured slowly. His swift and silent appearance at that very moment was somewhat unsettling, but also very convenient indeed.

"Not really. Should I start taking my clothes off?"

"Yes. Oh yes indeed. The prying little buggers won't be disturbing us for a while."

Thraknash flashed a horrifying grin. The news was good, and he felt like rewarding the messenger.

* * *

Sharrásh eyed the Elves incomprehensibly, the workings of his hoary old mind hidden and obscure. As soon as Anguelen had left, the Orcs had grouped behind Sharrásh and the Strangers behind Legolas, and the two factions now sat on the ground staring at each other. Mistrust hung in the air like a veil between them, dense and offensive as a slab of octogenarian cheese.

"I wonder how long it will take us to get to that other bloke's place," Gutbrúg pondered loud enough for everybody to hear.

"I do not know - and I do not care, as long as he is not another bloody _golug_!" Grishtakh said even louder.

"Say, what've you got against _them_, Grishtakh?"

"Nothing... except that they are snotty little WANKERS!" Krazum answered on behalf of Grishtakh, who didn't look like he was going to come up with anything cutting after that particularly witty comment.

Elladan sighed in frustration, longing to go over to the Orcs and show them what he usually did to the likes of them. "Would that I did not have to stay my hand, for the insolence of the _glamhoth_ grows unbearable in the absence of their leader..."

"OI! Who're you calling our _leader_, you sodding conformist? _Nobody_ commands us!" Gutbrúg bellowed.

"You were quite eager to obey him when he told you to stay here," Gimli pointed out.

"Oh yeah? Well, it's not because I like doing what he says. In fact, I'd go there in a heartbeat if it weren't for that blasted sun!"

"Why? Do you want to... _look_ at them?" Gruzlak asked.

Gutbrúg took a deep breath to calm down and regarded Gruzlak, quite surprised. "Whose side are you on? And yes, I would look at them to get some wanking material for tonight. It's not like I'm going to get any action here, anyway." A malicious smile twisted his already twisted mouth. "I still have it better than you normal Elves, though. I bet you're not even allowed to wank, are you? And what's that thing you're supposed to do before you can shag someone you like - marriage? What kind of a stupid fucking custom is that?"

Elrohir stood up, shaking with fury. "What would you know of Elven customs, you who cannot even begin to comprehend the grace and wisdom of the people who conceived of them? And as for what you should think of when you indulge the unrelenting lust of your revolting body, I imagine you would be better suited to dreaming of yourself, ever chained to the throne of the Enemy and never escaping his far greater lust."

Gutbrúg smirked, but it was a humourless smirk. "If I understand you correctly, you're saying I should wank to the idea of being the bitch of the Dark Lord. Not bad, but you know what image I think _you_ use? I bet you dream of your mum."

Had Legolas and Gimli not restrained the twins in time, the slaughter Anguelen feared would happen would have taken place indeed. "A single cut would suffice for me, I would not cause them pain," Elladan growled, trying to draw his blade. "Surely they have no need of their heads?"

"And that is why you must let them keep that burden on their shoulders," Gimli reasoned. "For what greater punishment is there for them?"

After a great deal of calming down on both sides, Ghâshsag took over the discussion for a while.

"So, Gutbrúg doesn't like being anybody's bitch if it means he can't top from the bottom - shut up, Gutbrúg, you know it's true - and Elladan and Elrohir aren't sick fuckers who fancy their mother." He sighed and continued in a serious tone. "You know, I usually don't arbitrate. It doesn't come very naturally to Orcs. It's just that if you start killing each other, I won't have anyone I know from the war or from before it left to keep me company. I'd like to keep them as long as I can, or at least until I burn us all to death by accident."

"What a wimp," Gutbrúg muttered. He quickly wiped his eyes. "When did you become so damn emotional, anyway?"

"Let us just... sit here and... and be at peace." Legolas rubbed his temples in aggravation, barely aware of the fact that yes, it was indeed he who was talking.

"Be at peace? Is that not what is usually said to those who have died?" Burzum said, waking up to the good old reality from which he had fled as the clamour of his friends had become too irksome. "A rather morbid thing to say. It makes me smile." Then he tried to smile, but ended up only lifting the left corner of his mouth in a grimace of sorts.

Krazum made sure to grace every single person in sight with a haughty glare before reaching for his bag.

"Cor, I'm bored," Grishtakh mumbled in the wake of the almost-massacre's excitement. He rocked himself slowly, hugging his knees tightly. "Even _his_ company would be refreshing now..."

Burzum glanced in Grishtakh's direction and immediately noticed the one of whom he spoke. Ah yes, 'twas the sweet Elfling, so cleverly choosing to stay out of the quarrels of others. Or that was what Burzum thought; in truth, Eldehto had been too afraid of the Orcs and only a little less afraid of the unwelcoming Strangers, so he had simply stayed outside both groups. There he fidgeted, looking over his shoulder every little while for signs of his returning brother.

Grishtakh grinned. "What are you doing there all alone? Why don't you join us, like your brother did?"

"W-what are you implying about my brother?" yelped the Elf. He stole a brief glance at the hill again, then at the group of the Elves and Gimli. As it seemed that he would get no help from any of them, he panicked. "And what are you staring at? _Stop looking at me_!"

"Say, what do you even see in him?" Gutbrúg asked Burzum in his usual discreet style. The only response he got to that was a punch in the ribs. All was well in his world again.

"You may have got my brother, but you shall never have me!"

Burzum swooned.

"But why not? Don't you _like_ us?" Ghâshsag sniffled.

"I... but you're... you're all Orcs, and I... but you don't actually... do you really _want_ me to join you?" Eldehto squirmed. It had to be cruel jesting, just like that time when he had been but a child and his brother and cousin had told him that honey,which was his favourite snack, was extracted from the queen bee's anus. He had been too young to question anything they told him, so he had endured his brother's cackled whispers of 'arse honey', and he had not been able to eat the snack for three months until his father found out what had happened and told him the truth. Oh, how Anguelen and Tauremardë must have laughed at his gullibility. O how the memory of that incident harrowed him still.

"Are you still awake there?"

Eldehto started. Well, so much for nostalgia. His eyes stung as he gazed at the figures in the darkness of his tormentor, obscure and lined with dusk that was as passing dark as the primal abyss wherein it was spawned. He swallowed, and his throat was dry. "_The corrupt child of corrupt parents,"_ he thought grimly, nearly bursting into obscene laughter, and his hand trembled as he began to extend it to the nearest shape.

"You don't have to make such a big deal out of it, you know," Grishtakh said, bemused. He said nothing else, for he saw that Thraknash and Anguelen were finally returning to them.

"Well, well. What have you been up to?" enquired the jovial voice of the older Elf.

"No... thing." Eldehto withdrew his hand quickly.

"Nothing? Then why do all of you look as though someone just stole your favourite codpieces and kicked you in the crotch for good measure?"

"It's a short story," replied Gutbrúg.

"Then do tell it to me," Anguelen requested. And Gutbrúg did. He was assisted for the most part by Gimli, for he had trouble telling the exact truth. Once he was done, Thraknash looked as though he might explode.

"Can't I leave you shitwits alone for a fucking _half-hour_?" he roared.

Krazum snorted. "It's quite bold of you to assume it's _your_ presence that restrains them, Uruk fucker."

"You go suck a Troll's..." Thraknash started, but could not finish when he finally looked at Krazum and saw him clearing the tangles in Gruzlak's hair with a bone comb that was far too valuable not to be stolen. The sight was absurd enough to steal the breath out of Thraknash's lungs, and he was worried his voice might crack when he turned back to the other Orcs for some more screaming. "And that's enough fucking around from you lot for one day," he snapped tentatively. Satisfied that shock had not robbed him of his voice, he finished with a vicious "_Now _g_et ready to move_!"

That got them ready to leave in record time; in just under a minute, they were once more on the desolate road to places unknown.

"Hey, umm, Elf," Grishtakh called to Legolas as though the earlier exchange had not happened at all. "Can you see the house of that bloke we're supposed to meet?"

Legolas mumbled something petulantly.

"But can't you use your Elven eyes and take a look? It can't be that far away!"

Legolas frowned.

"Oh, you're just like all the other Elves! Always so damn arrogant and haughty. Well, I'm sorry for being an Orc! I'm so sorry I'm so disgusting that you can't tell me whether or not you can see the house of that bloke we..."

"Perhaps," Legolas said, pointing one rigid finger in the direction they were just walking, "_that_ is the house of which you speak?"

Grishtakh blinked, staring at the house - more like a short tower in the middle of nowhere. "Well, blimey. It probably is. Heh, funny how you sometimes don't notice stuff that's right in front of your nose, isn't it? Must be this ring-fog. He he."

After that, he managed to stay quiet for quite a long time.


End file.
